


just a *little* cliche

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: But not Aromantic, CANON WHO, Discussions of Asexuality, Fluff, Gen, Get ready for fluff, Hurt/Comfort, LESS THAN CANON THO, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, NIKOLA IS NONBINARY FIGHT ME, Probably too much, Slight Emotional Hurt/Comfort, TW SLIGHT MENTION OF BLOOD, Whoops! My Bad!, alright i take that back, also basira is gay as james charles but more dignified, awkard flirting, but only one man matters, check chapters for individual tw's, cheesy pickup lines, elias is still a creep, eventual jon/martin, flufffffff, georgie is Emotional Support Queen, guys our favorite gays are going to PINE because I WANT THEM TO, here comes the comfort part of, i have no idea how alcohol works please forgive me, jon drinks wine, jon is ace, just the good old gang having good old fun, martin is awkward, marvel movie marathons, nope no canon to be found here, not a speedrun but faster than canon, not!sasha never happened, pretty much everybody trying to flirt with jon, technically slowburn but you know not really, this took a dark turn i don't think any of us were expecting, tw for blood (not extremely graphic but definitely there), ummm let's see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 55,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: Jon claims he is immune to any flirtation. Can he withstand the onslaught that follows?
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 766
Kudos: 705





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello wonderful people! this is the intro to my new series, so it's pretty short. hope it catches y'alls interest (oh mercy my southern is showing) let me know if you want to see more!  
> xxx

“Hello, I’m a professional thief and I’m here to steal your heart!”

“Good morning.” Jon sighed in exasperation as Tim made to leave his office, grinning cheekily. “You really aren’t that smooth, you know,” he called through the open door.

“Whatever, I’m charming as heck.” Running a hand through his blonde hair, he winked.

Sasha, who was walking down the hall, paused to say, “That’s what makes you so useful. Without you who would flirt their way into the police records? Poor Martin would get all flustered…”

“Would not!” The offended party materialized at her shoulder.

“Well, speak of the devil, there you are Martin! And I’m sorry to say it, but Sasha is right, without me you poor awkward fools would be left without a very valuable talent.”

“Which is…?” She smiled, appreciating his agreement,

“ _Flirtatiousness._ None of you can flirt to save your lives.” After a moment, he added, “Well, Sasha might be able to, but as for you-“ Tim gestured to Martin standing in the doorway, “-And Jon, I can’t vouch for that.”

Jon, who had let his head slip into his hands, looked up. “Okay, first off, how did you all get in here to join a conversation about _flirting skills?_ And second, you really can’t charm everybody,” he shot at Tim.

“Almost everybody,” he amended, “I don’t know how you resist me!”

“Must be magic,” he said drily.

Martin laughed, which made Jon smile the tiniest bit. “If you are immune to Tim, you probably are some magical deity sent to deflate his ego.”

“Or I just am immune to flirting in general,” he said matter-of- factly.

“I doubt that very much, boss.”

“ _You_ just don’t want to accept there is a human being uninterested in you.” When he looked hurt, Jon continued, “At least romantically.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush,” said Sasha.

“Big surprise there,” he mumbled, obviously frustrated at the lack of productivity.

“I take that as a PERSONAL CHALLENGE!” Tim proclaimed with a devilish smile.

“You’re going to- you will try to make me blush?” A moment, a realization. “Wait oH TIM I SWEAR IF YOU STRIP I WILL CALL SECURITY ON YOU SO HELP ME-“

The room dissolved into laughter.

“Okay, okay, the pants will stay on.” Tim pretended to be angry, frowning ridiculously. “And no, I refuse to believe you are incapable of being flirted with. Makes no sense whatsoever. From now on, you better be ready to have the socks charmed off your feet.”

Jon rolled his eyes.

“I’m in!” Sasha put a hand on Tim’s arm, teasingly excited.

“I’m interested to see how this goes down…” Martin laughed softly as he left the room, trying to hide his jealousy.

“Whatever you choose to do is none of my business,” Jon said delicately, “But will you please get back to work? I don’t need Elias on my case anymore than usual, so it would be much appreciated if you actually _did your jobs._ ”

“Okay, okay, we’ll get back to work.”

“ _Thank_ you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim thinks he can win Jon over. Jon makes a complaint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay first off a disclaimer- jon's receptiveness to flirting has nothing to do with his canon aceness. it DOES have everything to do with jon having zero social skills.  
> please let me know what you guys think!  
> xxx

“Come in!” Jon froze his hand inches from the door. He had been about to knock, how did Elias- “And yes, I heard you coming from down the hallway.”

He shook his head in confusion before pushing open the door.

His boss sat at the large desk, looking for all the world as if he couldn’t be bothered with anything except paperwork.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” His voice was icy, crisp as new paper.

“Uh-“ Jon blinked, suddenly unable to remember what his reason for entering the snake's nest was.

Elias quirked an eyebrow. “Cat got your tongue, _Archivist_?”

He sighed at the usage of the word. Jon, Mr. Sims, anything better than that stuffy title. But can you argue with the man holding your paycheck in his hands? Instead, he settled for actually trying to accomplish his newly remembered goal. 

“I have a complaint to lodge.”

“Oh?” He slowly turned the page in a large binder as if Jon was boring him.

“A complaint about- workplace harassment.”

Elias continued to look uninterested. “And what is the incident in question? From the top, please.”

Jon was quickly becoming angry. “Well, if you don’t want me to tell you, then I won’t.” He turned to leave.

“Tsk, tsk.” He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “You are letting your frustration get the better of you. You had a point coming in here, Archivist. _What is it?_ ”

He sighed. He hated when Elis acted like he was preparing Jon for something. He shoved it down anyways, swallowing his anger. “ _It started with a smile…”_

~~~

Jon left the office, his mouth dry. Something weird was going on with their boss, but they had known that for a while. This, however, was a new level of strangeness. _Was he some sort of psychic?_

Talking to that man made him nauseous. Elias so frigidly polite, so venomous, it was like willingly letting a snake crawl cross your feet.

He sank against the wall for support, quietly reliving what he had just told his boss.

~~~

It started with a smile. Of course, it did. Smiles always seemed to bring trouble for Jon. A smile, a wink, suddenly he was falling head over heels for somebody who Would Not Notice him. A smile, an embrace, all at once he was alone in the world.

So when Tim smiled at him over his morning tea, he became nervous. He tried to think, _is it his birthday? Mine? An anniversary? Why is he smiling so much??_ Quickly Jon left the room and escaped to the company of statements and tape recorders.

Days had passed since the strange conversation in his office. Jon struggled to remember the specifics. Was Tim planning on becoming a stripper? _No, that can’t be it… Something about flirting? Flirting was there somewhere._

Whatever it was, it’s not extremely important if he can’t remember it. Certainly more pressing matters to deal with. Namely, the disorganization of the Archives is still _very_ stressful. Elias wasn’t helping, giving cryptic warnings and advice.

After the Prentiss attack, what could be worse? Nothing else, surely. Nothing else could compete with the horror of being attacked by flesh-eating bugs.

It has been a long day. A very long day. _Long month,_ he thought to himself. His mind has been ravaged by twisting fire, a flame consuming knowledge. When all the oxygen has been stolen by heat, Jon gasped for space. A break from thoughts.

Obviously, that meant tea. Or food. But mostly tea. Because Britain.

Groaning, he stood from his chair and stretched. _Need to have a word with Elias about these awful chairs_ he thought ruefully as his back popped. The hallways seemed strangely empty as he made his way to the breakroom. Sasha nowhere to be seen, Tim conspicuously absent from any dark corners where he occasionally, as he put it, “Brooded handsomely,” but in reality was just waiting to jump scare people.

As Jon put the kettle on the stove to boil, he heard a sound behind him. _Ah, there are the people._

“Hello, boss!” The greeting was cheerful enough, but something about his voice was- different. It was lower, somehow. A little gravelly. Not normal.

Frowning, Jon didn’t turn around. “Hello, Tim,” he said warily.

“What are you doing?” His tone was conversational, almost too friendly.

“Just making some tea,” he replied, determinedly Not Looking At Tim. Even without seeing, Jon could hear the smile. That infernal smile, all pearly white teeth and flashing eyes. He didn’t know what was up with Tim but it certainly couldn’t be good. What normal person _smiled_ that much?

“Sounds amazing,” he said, still in that strange voice.

The realization hit Jon like an alarm clock on a school morning. _Oh my- his voice is husky_. Slowly, he turned around to face Tim, worried at what he might see.

Thankfully, all of his clothes remained on his body. Gracefully, he hopped up onto the counter next to the stove. There Tim sat, grinning, long legs dangling, and watched Jon. “You know,” he said, “I’ve always loved a woman who knows her way around the kitchen. But-“ He popped the _T_ , “You also pull it off quite well.”

Jon blinked, confused. _How was he supposed to respond? Thank you? What? Buzz off?_ Instead, he opted for baffled silence.

The kettle whistled between them, making him jump. “Here, let me-“ They both reached for it at the same time, Tim (mistakenly?) grabbing his hand instead of the handle.

“Brr, you’re cold.” He took the startled man’s hand between his own, larger, hands. “Boss, are you made of ice?”

“Why do you think I wear these sweaters everywhere?” Jon retorted, finding the words he had lost. “Tim. _Let go of my hand_.”

He complied. “I thought you were just trying to look like a depressed college professor.” 

“Gee, thanks.”

“A good-looking depressed college professor,” Tim amended.

“Is that-“ Jon closed his eyes, breathing deep. “Is that better?”

“Oh yes,” came the eager reply. “Very much so. A college professor who regrets their life decisions doesn’t exactly hold the same allure as an attractive one. And you-“ Tim smacked him on the shoulder, “Fall into the latter category.”

“Tim. Touch me one more time and I _will_ cut off your limbs.” He snapped. _Why was he so prickly? Well, this is a weird experience,_ he reasoned, _this reaction is justified._

“Okay, okay, not a big fan of contact, no problem,” he said quietly. “I can work with that.”

“Work with what, exactly, Mr. Stoker?”

He looked caught, his composure slipping for a moment. He faltered before hoisting that infernal smile back on his face. “Nothing, nothing. Don’t you worry your pretty little face about it.” Tim cupped Jon’s face in his palm for a moment, considering it before jumping down from the counter. “You’re cute when you’re flustered!” he called, leaving the room.

Far too late Jon responded, “I’m not- flustered.”

~~~

He returned to his office after lunch to find a note on his desk.

_Dear Archivist_

_I have considered your complaint and decided not to press the matter further. A little workplace flirting is nothing to raise a fuss about._

_E. Bouchard_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i ever flirted? no  
> has somebody ever flirted with me? no  
> am i qualified to write flirting? no  
> am i going to try? absolutely. we will die together in this endeavor, men!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha has joined the game. Martin is jealous. Jon has a *reasonably* good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight this one was super fun and easy to write, hope y'all enjoy it! i had one of those OTP prompts stuck in my head, the "A: what was that? B: affection dingus A: disgusting. do it again" post. took a bit to get it to fit into the TMA universe but i think i got it there. let me know what y'all think! i literally have no idea where i'm going with this, except for a great ending. but the middle? idk man. angst? probably not. this is the definition of a crackfic.  
> comments and kudos make my day!  
> xxx

Elias wasn’t going to consider his complaint. That was fine. There was nothing he can do, nothing left but grin and bear it. Jon supposed he could do his best in laughing it off. After all, it was just a little flirting. He had been dealing with Tim’s nonsense for a very long time.

Walking to the work that day was actually quite pleasant. The tube station was a few blocks from the Institute, enough time for Jon to enjoy the scenery or have a panic attack. Depending on the day.

Today was a day to stop and smell the roses. Well, metaphorically. He didn’t have time to waste on that sort of romantic nonsense. Elias would be on his tail if he so much as _walked_ the wrong way these days, he couldn’t deal with the repercussions of being late.

The sky was a dreamy blue, a break in the near-constant rain of his city. Jon noticed the plants seemed a more vibrant green than before, but that may be due to his lack of attention. Normally he was locked in a world above this one on the way to work, running over statements and incidents in his mind.

When he pulled open one of the double doors at the Institute, a gust of fresh spring air seemed to follow him inside. _This is nice,_ he thought to himself. “Morning, Rosie,” he waved to the short woman behind the desk.

“Hello, Jon!” she chirped. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he hummed, “It is. I hope Elias doesn’t bother you today,” he said sincerely.

“Thanks,” she grimaced. “I think he wants to talk about the _budget. Again._ I already told him we simply cannot write whatever numbers we want, but he said…” Rosie rambled, telling Jon about the latest issue Elias had found with her work.

He paused for a moment in the entry, chatting with her pleasantly. “Well, I should get down to the Archives. Got to clean up the mess Gertrude left for us,” he groaned slightly, surprised to find himself enjoying the company.

“Good luck!” she called as the lift opened for him.

“Ah, hold the doors!” shouted a harried voice. Tim skidded into the lift next to him.

“Thanks,” he panted, his bag haphazardly slung across his shoulder, his shirt half tucked in.

“No problem,” he said apprehensively. He was stuck in an elevator with Tim, something that is mildly annoying on a good day.

“You look good today,” Tim said, looking him up and down. 

“I wish I could say the same for you.”

He laughed, unperturbed. “My alarm _apparently_ is missing some key features.”

“Like a functioning alarm?” Jon said.

“Yep!”

Thankfully, the doors opened releasing him from this peculiar form of torture. Jon walked down the hall towards his office, the slight spring in his step not ruined by the interaction with Tim.

“Good morning, Jon,” Martin said as he passed.

“Yes, it is.” At the questioning look on his face, he continued, “A good morning, I mean.”

“Oh! Of course, that’s what you-“ Without finishing his sentence Martin ducked back into the room where he had been organizing some files. Jon couldn’t see him bury his head in his hands, flushing. _Why do I have to mess up every conversation…_

“Wow, what’s up with you?” Sasha asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jon said, putting his bag on his desk.

“You’re smiling,” she stated as if that explained everything.

“Is it illegal now?” he asked absentmindedly.

“No, you normally….” she trailed off.

“Come into work looking like facing the devil himself would be preferable?” Tim supplied.

“Yeah, what he said.”

Jon shrugged. “Just the weather, I guess.”

“I actually saw him have a polite conversation with Rosie upstairs,” Tim whispered conspiratorially.

“Wow, without biting her head off?” Sasha pretended to faint in surprise.

“Oh, cut the theatrics,” he snapped halfheartedly. “Rosie and I are friends.”

“You do seem to get on with her better than anybody else,” she mused. “Wonder how she does it?”

“Ohh, they’re in the GSA together!” he exclaimed, grinning. Jon looked confused.

As he walked past the office with Tim and Sasha hanging in the doorway, Martin did a double-take. “Wait, Jon, I didn’t know you were in-“ he began.

“I have no idea what that is,” he said quickly.

“Really?” Sasha asked. “It’s the Gay-Straight Alliance.”

A look of comprehension dawned on his face. “Ah, I see. No, I’m don’t belong to an organization like that. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t,” he gestured at the small rainbow pin on his bag.

“Not that one, Sash,” Tim said. “The Great Short Association!”

“You made that up.”

“Nope! Totally legitimate club for short people who want to commiserate about their lack of stature!”

“How many members does it have?” Martin asked skeptically.

“Two,” he responded promptly. “Jon and Rosie.”

Jon sighed loudly. “As interesting as this definitely real club that exists is, we do have work to do.”

“ _Spoilsport._ ” Tim winked at him as he left the room, accidentally bumping into Martin. “Oops, sorry, Marto!”

Sasha lingered. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “You are actually quite attractive when you smile.”

“I will take that as a compliment…?”

She laughed. “Good. I can see why-“ She broke off abruptly.

“See what?” Jon asked.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Sasha shook her head. She paused for a moment, making up her mind, before kissing him abruptly on the cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked, slightly flustered. Sasha was very pretty and extremely nice, he understood why Tim liked her so much.

“It was affection, you dummy,” she huffed, straightening up.

“Disgusting.” He couldn’t bring himself to snap at her. Instead, he laughed slightly.

“Sasha! I told you he doesn’t do physical contact!” Tim shouted from the hallway.

“Sorry!” she called back, “But it was worth seeing him flustered.”

“I have taught you well, young padawan,” he said.

Jon watched this exchange as though following a tennis volley. “Not you too, Sasha!” he groaned.

“You’re adorable when you’re awkward,” she said decidedly, leaving the room with a swish of her skirt. She sidled up to Tim, and in full view of Jon, kissed him firmly on the mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked, mimicking Jon.

“Affection, idiot,” she tapped him on the nose.

“Disgusting,” he said, completely deadpan. “Do it again.”

Sasha laughed and sashayed down the hall, leaving the confused men in her wake.

She walked into the breakroom, intending to grab an apple from the basket next to the fridge. Martin stared at her forlornly. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Oh it’s- nothing I don’t- what are you- nope,” he fumbled for the English language.

“Oh, are you jealous, love?” Sasha teased. 

Martin turned red.

“Don’t worry,” she put an arm around his shoulders. “Let me show you the world available to those who are bold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor martin, he needs some GUTS 👀👀👀👀👀


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has a cool shirt. Martin asks for advice. Jon stops functioning, Tim and Sasha play therapists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow the days keep going by. I'm going to try out a posting schedule!! we'll see if it works... updates Tuesdays and Saturdays! let me know what y'all think, comments make me so happy! enjoy lovelies  
> xxx

“Welcome back to London,” Jon said to Tim as he pulled a Tupperware out of the small fridge in the breakroom.

“Thanks, boss!” He flashed a blinding white smile, made even brighter by his dark tan. “It was fun to get away from _here_ -“ He made a one-fingered gesture towards Elias’ office.

Jon smiled slightly. “I am going to pretend I didn’t see that.”

“Really?” He turned to look at him in surprise. “Wow, this is growth! A few months ago you would have had me written up or something for flipping off the big bossman.”

“I still might,” he grumbled.

“Sure you will.” Tim clapped an arm across his shoulders.

Hastily, he changed the subject. “So I take it you enjoyed the beach?”

“Oh yeah, it was nice. Hung out with some old friends, swam a bit, you know how it is. Actually-“ He paused, his demeanor impish. “I found a- oomph!”

At that moment a colorful shape collided with Tim, wrapping their arms around his waist. “You’re back!”

“Hey, Sash.” He grinned down at her. “Miss me?”

Sasha punched him playfully on the chest. “Nope, I did not miss you at all.”

“You clinging to me like a koala bear says otherwise,” he said in a singsong voice.

“She missed you a lot,” Martin stage-whispered from the doorway. “She was positively _heartbroken_ when you left.”

“I was not!” She disentangled herself from him, standing up straight. Jon marveled at how she retained her dignity in situations like this.

“I did notice productivity went down when you were gone, Tim,” he noted. “If I am being honest, I expected the opposite of that to be true.”

“I knew you would miss me.” He smirked. “Can’t focus when I’m gone, you lovesick fools.”

Martin made a disgruntled sound. “Not lovesick,” he said.

“Whatever you say, Marto.” Tim shrugged. “Anyways, I was about to show Jon this really cool shirt I got while I was on vacation.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I swear, if you take off your shirt to show us your tan, I might do something drastic.”

“What, like kiss me?” he teased.

She laughed. “You wish, Stoker.”

“Ahh, so later, then…”

“TIM!”

Martin blushed a little bit. “What where you going to show us?” he asked, hastily trying to change the subject.

“Oh, yeah-“ Tim stretched his arms above his head. In one fluid motion, he gave a sharp tug on the buttoned front of his shirt. Buttons popped off and rolled to the floor, plastic clinking. He ripped off his now-useless garment to reveal-

“Is it… your face?” Jon asked in confusion.

“Yep!”

Indeed it was. Tim had somehow managed to print his own face on a white t-shirt. He smiled and pointed finger guns at his surprised coworkers, pulling the exact same I’m-trying-not-to-be-cool-but-it’s-hard expression. Bold letters across his chest read, ‘PRETTY BOY’

“Uh, wow, that’s…” Sasha trailed off, stifling a giggle behind her hand.

“I know, right?” Tim laughed and Martin joined in.

“I’m not even going to ask how in the world you did that,” Jon said.

“Ever the show-off.” She shook her head in disbelief and wonder.

“It’s healthy self-confidence!” he defended himself.

Sasha patted him on the cheek. “Whatever you say.” She spun around with a swish of her skirt and a toss of her head. “See you later, idiot!”

“You know you love me!” Tim called after her as she left the room. She just laughed.

Martin picked up the discarded button-up at his feet and tied it around his eyes, blindfold style. “Ahh, much better. Now I don’t have to see that ugly shirt!” he said cheerfully.

Tim gasped dramatically. “It’s my face, not one of those sphynx cats who look like they eat unborn children!”

“That’s kinda the point,” he said.

“I did not know you were the sarcastic type, Martin,” said Jon.

He flushed. “Uh, thanks? I guess?”

Tim pouted. “You were supposed to be on my side. Marto and pretty boy, saving the world one boring day at a time!” He sighed. “I thought you were bae, it turns out you’re just fam.”

“Oooh, that’s low,” he said, turning to walk out the door. Well, that’s what he was aiming to do. Instead, he ran into Tim AND THEN the door, eventually finding himself outside the breakroom with a few bruises. “No comment!” Martin removed the blindfold (and his self-respect).

Wheezing from pain and laughter, Tim sat on the floor, massaging his elbow. “How’s _pretty boy_ doing now?” Jon asked.

“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully, “How are you?”

Martin hurried back towards his desk as Jon rolled his eyes. “I’m doing splendidly, thank you for asking.” With that, he turned and left the room.

At this point, the ‘ _workplace harassment_ ’ did not seem to bother him as much. Tim’s constant teasing and ribbing all just part of the weirdness of the Archives.

~~~

“Tim, how in the world do you do it?” Martin asked, later that day.

“Do what?” he answered slowly, focusing on some notes in front of him.

He put his head in his hands, his words muffled. “Flirt with Jon. You make it look _soooo easy_.”

“That’s because,” Tim looked over at the dejected man next to him, making a decision, “It is. If you’ve got guts, that is.”

“Which I don’t.”

He hummed in agreement. “Not exactly. I’m not insulting you or anything!” he hurried to clarify.

Martin let his fingers slip down, uncovering his eyes. “It’s fine. Sasha said I just have to be bold, but that’s like asking an ant to move a huge mountain. And the ant is very nervous because the mountain can be judgmental and might not appreciate the ant trying to move it, or might laugh at the ant for trying. What if the mountain just wants to stay put? What if the ant makes things worse? Then the ant can’t enjoy how beautiful the mountain is, how nice it is to be around when the mountain isn’t being rude to the ant.” He sighed, letting his head hit the desk with a thunk.

“Martin, _Martin_ , buddy,” Tim tried to be comforting. “It’s not that bad. You’re overthinking this.”

“ _You’re overthinking this._ ”

“Really, is that what we’re doing here?” He laughed. “It’s not that bad. Just be yourself, but put yourself out there, you know? Don’t change who you are, but also don’t be who you are.”

“I’m so confused right now you _aren’t helping anything_.”

“Become Martin 2.0. Suave, confident when it matters, but still sweet and soft, you know?” Tim crossed his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Of all the things he imagined when he’d been hired, giving pre-relationship advice to a man in the middle of a gay crisis had not been on the list.

“No?”

“Just be go with your gut. Try it!”

Martin groaned again, defeated. “Fine. I’ll try your way.”

Tim pumped his fist in the air, whooping. “You got this!”

“Whatever you say,” he muttered darkly.

~~~

“Hey, Jon, what’s wrong?” Sasha broke off her and Tim’s conversation as their boss wandered down the hall, look shellshocked.

“Huh? What?” His eyes seemed unfocused, his characteristic sharpness somehow vanished into thin air.

“Wow, you’re really out of it,” Tim noted. “Did Elias fire you or something?”

He made a small noise in the back of his throat. “No, fortunately. I just- it doesn’t matter.” Sasha took him by the arm and pulled him close.

“What happened?” she asked, concerned.

Tim crossed his arms. “Spill,” he commanded.

“Uh…” Jon didn’t seem keen on finishing his sentence, but Sasha put her hands on her hips menacingly. “I-“ He mumbled something that contained the word _Martin_.

Tim’s eyebrows shot up in understanding. He let out a soft _oh_ of comprehension before dashing down the hallway towards the bathroom. “Martin?” he called softly. “Are you in here?”

“No, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Who’s Martin?”

He smiled in relief. At least this was taking place in the bathroom and not on the edge of a roof. It might be drastic, but hey, the situation was probably drastic as well. “Do you want to come out of that stall? You don’t have to leave the bathroom, just come talk to me?” He spoke gently, as if to a scared wild animal.

The far-left stall groaned, but the door swung open and Martin stepped out, looking as if somebody had removed his bones and his will to live. “Hi,” he said sheepishly.

“What’s going on?”

He jammed his hands into his pockets, very intent on examining the floor tiles. “Currently? Reconsidering every life decision that has led up to this point.” He laughed ruefully.

Tim winced in sympathy. “It can’t be that bad,” said he.

“Can’t it?” Martin looked for all the world like a man at the end of his rope.

“Well,” he said slowly, “What happened?”

He leaned against the wall as he began to recount his tale of woe. “I thought a lot about what you said, about being confident? And I thought it couldn’t hurt, but, here we are…” Martin gestured at the bathroom. “I decided to make some tea, and I went to ask Jon if he wanted some.”

“So thoughtful.” Tim smiled warmly. “But I really don’t see where things went wrong.”

Martin heaved a massive sigh. “I wish asking if my boss wanted tea was where it ended.”

~~~

Sasha sat Jon down on the ground, regardless of the fact that they were in the middle of a hallway. “It’s barely even used,” she answered Jon’s protests. “We have more important matters to discuss. Namely, why you are acting like somebody has removed your brain, put it in a blender, then replaced it in your skull as a smoothie.”

“Uh, that’s pretty… yeah. That seems adequate.”

“What happened, Sims?”

He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I’m not...”

“Not what?” Sasha was unamused at his avoidance tactics. “Answer the question.”

“I’m not exactly sure what happened. Martin came and asked me if I wanted some tea, you see.” He blushed slightly, staring at a space beyond her head.

“I’m sorry, but are you losing your mind over him asking you if you want tea?” A look of incredulous delight spread over her face. “I mean, he’s attractive and all, but man, you’ve really got it bad for him!” She laughed.

“No!” She seemed shocked at his sudden outburst. “I mean, yes, he’s very nice and…” Jon trailed off. He had never really thought about Martin’s looks before. Now that he thought about it, he realized something alarming. 

“Cute?” she prompted.

“Yes, fine, whatever, he’s attractive. But I _do not_ have it-“ He put air quotes around the statement, “ _Bad for him_.”

Sasha patted his knee sympathetically. “Sure you don’t.”

Jon jerked away indignantly. “ _I don’t._ Anyways,” he said pointedly, “Martin asked if I wanted tea. Yes. I agreed because he makes tea better than anyone I’ve ever- oh, come off it!” She had raised her eyebrows suggestively at him.

“Fine,” she laughed. “Please, do continue. I think you were talking about how Martin is an angel who makes tea fit for heaven?”

Jon elected to ignore the last part of her statement. “As he turned to go, he hesitated before asking me…” He gave up, holding his head in his hands.

“What?” she prompted.

“On a scale of one to Jon, how hot I would like my tea.” His words were smothered by his fingers, but Sasha understood easily.

“Are you joking?” She was barely able to contain a grin. When he shook his head _no, I wouldn’t joke about anything this serious_ she burst into gut-wrenching laughter. “Oh my,” she wheezed between chuckles, “That is the _best_ thing I’ve heard all year!”

~~~

“That has got to be the worst idea I’ve ever had,” Martin moaned.

“What happened next?” Tim asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“I don’t know what came over me! I asked him…” He shuffled his feet, not eager to finish the statement.

“You asked him-?”

In a rush, he said, “OnascaleofonetoJonhowhotwouldyoulikeyourtea?”

Tim blinked. “O-kay, let’s try that again, but slower.”

Martin’s shoulders slumped visibly. “On a scale of one to Jon, how hot would you like your tea?”

“There you go, Marto!” he cheered. “That’s more like it. The quality cheesiness, it’s just,” he blew a chef’s kiss, “Perfecto.”

“No,” he sighed, “No it’s not. Don’t you see? I’ve ruined everything! I made a mistake, Jon looked at me like I was some sort of- freak or something, now I’ll have to get a new identity, liquidize my assets, move to America and start a new life working as a waiter for some dumpy little midwestern diner!”

“Whoa there, just breathe. It’s not that bad. Jon’s fine, he isn’t mentally scarred by your attempt at flirting- wait.” He paused, remembering the scene in the hall. “Maybe he is a bit shook. But it’s okay, you’ll be fine. If he’s a jerk about it to you…” He cracked his knuckles threateningly.

“Thanks, Tim,” said Martin.

“No problem. Are you ready to go face the world?”

A dull flush crept up his neck.

“Ah, not yet, then. That’s okay,” Tim put an arm around him, “Take all the time you need.” Over muttered thanks, he continued. “Although, I do think that was a very smooth thing to say. Execution, maybe not so much, but you were there in spirit! Just another thing to work on in order to sweep Jon off his feet, right?”

Martin did not look convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any particular scenes you want to see, a pickup line or something leave a comment!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon talks to Georgie about his situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp  
> it's sunday  
> i've already failed my self-imposed deadlines. BUT IN MY DEFENSE i had one heck of a weekend and i'm exhausted.  
> anyways here it is! i am starting to get the hang of this thing, hopefully y'all enjoy it with me! the chat formatting was tough man. kudos to all those chatfic writers, that's dedication right ther  
> let me know what you think!  
> xxx

In the mid-1500s, Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford, visited the court of Queen Elizabeth the First. Upon making his entrance, he bowed low to the Queen and subsequently “ _happened to let a fart_ ”. The Earl was so embarrassed and mortified he went into self-imposed exile for seven years. After his return, Queen Elizabeth teased him about it, saying, ” _My lord, I had forgotten the fart!_ ”

With this information in mind, Jon supposed he had gotten off easy. Easier, at least, than the Earl. He had not broken wind in front of the Queen.

But his situation was still quite mortifying. Even thinking of that moment, that shocked minute, frozen in space, was enough to send him into a state of overthinking and tension. _Thank the stars it’s the weekend,_ he thought, hurriedly packing up and leaving the Institute.

“Going home already, Jon?” Elias asked as he passed. He made a noncommittal noise, not slowing in his goal of leaving as fast as humanly possible.

_Get outside_. He ducked around Sasha, unseen. _Get outside._ Martin was nowhere to be found, thankfully. _Get outside._ He didn’t think he could handle speaking to Tim, not now. Relieved, Jon skirted the room where he was currently dismantling all of the pens in the office and replacing them with different colored inks.

The fresh air filled his lungs as he breathed deeply for the first time that day. As he walked crisply towards the tube station, thoughts began to swirl in his mind like muddied silt. Some were useless things, like emotions, but others needed unpacking

_What even happened today?_

He sighed marginally, resigning himself to the task. _Today started off normal._ That was true. _Tim bought a ridiculous shirt._ Which had nothing to do with his current predicament. _Martin brought him tea and-_

Jon couldn’t even finish the thought. Not that it was unpleasant, exactly, it was just… odd. His assistants were often the bold, teasing, type. But this was something different. Something completely unexpected.

Somehow, it felt different coming from Martin.

Gentle, soft-spoken, shy Martin.

( _“On a scale of one to Jon, how hot would you like your tea?_ ”)

Jon supposed it was just shock. Shock at hearing him say something so distinctly un-Martin. _Yes, that was it. You were shocked._

Then why did he react as he did? Freeze, like a deer in the headlights? An inextricable heat had crawled up his face, the English language deserting him in his hour of need.

_Shock. Just shock._

He sat in his cheaply upholstered seat, staring at the world around him, unseeing. The train car could have crumpled in on him and he would not have noticed. After missing his stop, he realized the place for introspection was at his flat (preferably with some form of alcohol), not on a crowded train.

Jon walked slowly up the stairs, back aching from the long days at his desk. He smiled ruefully, stretching as he opened the door. _Georgie did say this place would be the death of me. Working myself into the ground, and all that…_

Finally alone, he slumped onto the ground, leaning against the wall. _Why did working with people have to be so difficult?_ Normally he avoided human interaction, if possible. First the cataloguing in university, then the research position at the Institute.

Well, look at how that had gone. Sitting on the floor, too tired to pour a glass of wine, stressing over something somebody had said. Because no matter what Jon told himself, something inside him hadn't _actually_ hated it. What Martin had said. It was a different feeling from Tim's constant teasing.

This was something new. A feeling _heaven forbid he had emotions_ that was quite uncommon.

He groaned, getting to his feet. His phone fell out of his pocket onto the floor, thumping loudly in the ever-present, ever comforting quiet of his flat. Jon stooped to pick it up, intending to go microwave some form of carbohydrates for his dinner.

His thumb hovered over the photo app for a moment, opening it almost mindlessly. Without thinking he scrolled through the _unsurprisingly small_ collection of photos, stopping somewhere about six years ago.

A different Jon smiled up at him, a laughing woman at his side. Georgie grinned mischievously at the camera; the lines of her face blurred in motion. Fuzzy streetlights in the background, the pixelated graphics of technology long obsolete caught him in his tracks.

Jon remembered little about that night. He did recall, however, how being around Georgie had made him feel.

He cursed softly, turning the phone off and deliberately Not Thinking About Anything but dinner.

The microwave beeped at him, horrifyingly utilitarian. He sat, feet tucked under him, on the counter, the instant noodles in his lap uncomfortably warm. Jon blew on them impatiently before tucking in.

_Ah, the wonders of eating pure sodium fresh out of the fires of hell in the midst of an existential crisis_.

Coping mechanisms come in many shapes and forms. He pulled out his phone again, typing out a text with one hand.

_Hello, Georgie. I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry. For a lot. But you already know that. I am having a bit of an issue at work, and I thought I might ask you for help._

Even before he sent it he knew it sounded desperate. But he pressed send anyways. Jon put his phone face down on the counter before hopping off, pulling a bottle of wine out of his pantry.

He was halfway through a glass before his phone _pinged_ , signaling a text.

_glad to hear you're still alive_

_although for how much longer, idk_

_you sounded pretty down_

_what's up?_

Jon drained the rest of the glass before answering. Always best to have an excuse for doing something stupid. Alcohol was a good cover story, in his opinion.

_Would you consider repression a healthy coping mechanism?_

Who would have thought an old girlfriend and a bumbling coworker could both get him so flustered.

_jon_

_jon_

_jon_

_jon_

_no_

_we talked abt this_

_jon_

_jon_

_jon_

The stupid butterflies in his stomach Georgie used to stir up had been asleep for so long, he thought it entirely possible they might have died.

_Well, that is worrying to hear. On a completely unrelated note, how difficult is it to find a new identity?_

He barely had to wait before a flurry of texts lit up his phone.

_JON_

_WHAT_

_IS_

_GOING_

_ON_

_radio silence for a year then you text me OUT OF THE BLUE asking about new identities and repression?_

He sighed. This was going to get very messy.

_I promise it's nothing important._

_uh yes_

_it is_

_you have ten minutes to explain everything to me or that video of you snoring mysteriously shows up on the internet and all of your coworkers know about it._

Jon knew something like this might happen. Unpleasant as it may be, he began to type out his story.

_This might take a while._

He held his breath waiting for a reply.

_i have all day_

Well, there was no getting out of it now. He poured himself more wine, took a fortifying gulp, then began to explain his plight.

_I had an awkward interaction with a coworker today that I very much would like forgotten as fast as humanly possible._

_i guessed that genius_

_i mean what happened_

_It's a bit of a game around the office to flirt with, uh, me._

_oh sweet mercy_

_and how is that going?_

_About as well as you can imagine._

_so that's why you want a new identity?_

_Not exactly. I got used to Tim and Sasha doing it, but Martin never did. It was nice, actually, to have someone who didn't constantly tease you._

_ahaha tim and sasha sound like my kind of people_

_so this martin, huh? 👀👀👀_

_No, it's not like that. But Martin said something today that has left me quite distressed. I'm not emotionally equipped to deal with it._

_spill_

_It went a little something like, "On a scale of one to Jon, how hot would you like your tea?"_

_YOU'RE JOKING_

_I would never._

_what did you say to that?_

_..._

_you did not freeze up on the poor man???_

_you absolute FOOL_

_After that, I overheard something that Tim said to him that made this whole situation worse._

_wow_

_and how exactly is this possible, mr. i'm-so-professional?_

_I can't recall the exact words, but apparently, they are trying to get Martin into this whole flirting game as well._

_wait i'm confused_

_how is this worse?_

Jon looked up from his phone, lightly slamming his head against the table he was sitting at.

_Well uh_

_It means that it was just a joke._

_yes and?_

_tbh i thought you would be relieved that it was just a joke?_

_Me too, honestly._

_i don't exactly see the issue here_

_..._

_wait no_

_jon no_

_you did not_

_go and_

_catch feelings for your assistant_

_I'm afraid I may have._

_wow uh this is quite the plot twist_

_I suppose so_

_and when did you realize this?_

_Approximately five hours ago._

_this is bad, isn't it_

_Yes, it is._

_hold your horses, i'm coming over right now_

_dire circumstances require drastic measures_

_do not_

_i repeat DO NOT do anything until i get there_

_There is no point in arguing with you, I assume._

_;)_

She didn’t say anything else, presumably on her way to his flat. Jon sighed, unsurprised to find himself laying on the ground, flat on his back.

“What am I going to do?”

The ceiling did not reply.

_Ungrateful._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wine is drunk. A conversation is had.
> 
> OR
> 
> It's time for *jazz hands* Therapy With Georgie!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing is weird. sometimes i'll struggle to get out The Words, sometimes things just come. today was a mix- after a rocky start of forcing myself to do the thing, the rest just. spilled out. who knew georgie is so fun? i hope she sounds alright. enjoy!  
> xxx

Jon’s phone vibrated, startling him out a meditative calm.

**_Georgie Barker_ **

_i’m here_

_which one is yours again?_

_221b. The second building on your right._

Minutes later, a firm hand knocked on the door to his flat. Body groaning, he stood up from the floor and answered it.

“Hey, Georgie.” He tried for enthusiasm but succeeded only in sounding dead tired. Which he was.

“Oof, we do not sound good right now.” She rocked back on her heels, looking up into his face. Her brown eyes soft with concern, Georgie’s small frame radiated warmth.

He drew a hand across his eyes. “Uh, yeah, it’s been a long day…”

She had the decency not to laugh at him. They stood there, slightly awkward before she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Normally, Jon wasn’t one for physical contact, but it had been a weird day. Georgie pulled back, considering.

“Wow, this is really bad, isn’t it?” He nodded, defeated.

“Do you want to come in?” Jon moved aside and she breezed past him, picking up several plastic grocery bags from the floor.

Surveying his flat, she shook her head. “How do you live like this?” Nudging aside a stack of old newspapers, Georgie put the sacks down on the kitchen counter. Gingerly, she poked a dead houseplant in the center of it. Several shriveled leaves fell off.

“What do you mean?” Jon asked defensively, “It’s neat.”

“Freakishly so. Where’s the creativity? The personality?” She frowned. “Wait, this is your personality.”

He sighed. “Did you come over just to mock my lifestyle?”

“Would you be surprised if I said yes?” She grinned, a smile like a sunrise in the middle of the night: disconcerting, yet not entirely unwelcome.

“Not really, no.” He gestured at the bags. “What’s all this?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I care about your feelings, Jon.” Georgie was completely serious as she rifled through them, pulling out items as she spoke. “Ice cream, chocolate, biscuits, new tea because I know you always forget to get it, a fuzzy blanket, wine, tissues just in case, and a movie.”

He watched this in stunned silence. When she had finished arranging everything on the counter, he spoke. “Um- thank you, but why?”

“Well,” she said frankly, “It seems like we have a case of possible pining and/or gay panic on our hands. Coupled with your inability to deal with emotions, this seemed like the perfect time for-“ She spread her hands in a sweeping gesture. “-Therapy With Georgie!”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? I mean, this is just a small thing…” He was already regretting this, doubt showing in the lines around his eyes.

“Jonathan Ferdinand Edgar Sims-“ She began.

“That’s not even my real name.”

“Shhhh,” Georgie mimed zipping her lips. “That’s unimportant right now. The important thing is that this is the first time you have caught feelings for somebody in…” She looked at him quizzically, “Maybe five years?”

He nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“And I was one of the very few before this and your only girlfriend.”

“No need to rub it in,” Jon said, slightly stung.

She raised a placating hand. “It’s the truth, though.”

He sighed, massaging his temples. “Yeah, it is.”

“My point exactly!” she crowed triumphantly. "You need help, a hand to guide you through these turbulent waters, a beacon of advice in these trying times."

"And you-" Jon looked at her skeptically, "-fancy yourself just the person for that job?"

Georgie swatted him on the arm. " _Duh_. Why wouldn't I?"

"Hmm, let's think..." He frowned in mock concentration. "Maybe because you mispronounced your own name the first day at a new job and were too anxious to correct people about it, so you went by _George_ for four years? Or is it because the first time you met Melanie, all those years ago, you called me at three in the morning, crying about how beautiful she was?"

She glared at him half-heartedly.

"Or maybe that one time you gave the Admiral the wrong brand of dry food, causing him to give you _the look of disappointment_ , which was so distressing you walked to the store, four miles away, to get him the right kind? Perhaps-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Georgie said, laughing, with her hand across his mouth. "Maybe, just _maybe_ , I'm not as good at feelings as I think I am, but I do handle them better than you."

"Not like that's a high bar," he muttered.

"Fair point. Now, Mr. Sims, if you'll have a seat please..." She forcefully led him to the couch, pushing him onto it. She sat next to him. "Let's hear everything. Spill it all, my emotionally repressed friend, I know there is probably more here than you're letting on..." she finished ominously.

"I already told you," Jon said. "Do we have to do this again?"

Georgie popped open the ice cream tub expertly, spoon poised over the creamy white. "Absolutely," she said in a tone that did not invite arguments.

" _Fine_." He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. "Today started off normal. When I was talking to Tim-"

"No no no," she interrupted. "I don't mean today. I mean _everything_. I don't know much about this Martin character. What makes him so special a casual comment has got you all twisted up into anxious knots? Give me the background, history, blood type. Every. Little. Thing." She gesticulated wildly with the spoon.

"Watch the eyes, please, I rather like them the way they are," Jon said.

Georgie rolled hers. "You'll be fine. If I wanted to hurt you-" She smirked. "It would be all too easy."

"Alright, thank you-" His initial relief at the spoon being withdrawn vanished quickly. "Now what is that supposed to mean, exactly?"

She gently poked his bicep. Well, where biceps _should_ be. "Twink."

He let it slide with nothing more than a tired chuckle. "You have a point."

"Of course I do. Now, Martin?" she asked imperiously.

"Fine, fine. What do you want to know about him?" Jon resigned himself to the questioning to come.

"Full name? Age? Height? What does he look like? Personality? Brains or brawn? Does he put the bowls in the top or bottom of the dishwasher? What's his opinion on The Bee Movie? Milk before or after cereal? Is he affectionate? Withdrawn? Does he dress like a grandpa, like you?" she fired off in rapid succession.

Jon blinked, disoriented. "That is a lot of random information you're asking for."

"Not random, and I have more!" Georgie said happily. "But I thought we'd start with the basics."

"Erm, okay, let's see... His name is Martin. K. Blackwood, not sure what the 'K' stands for though. He's around my age-"

"So, a dinosaur?" she interrupted.

"Ha, ha, very funny. You do remember I'm eight months older than you?"

"Nine," she corrected him.

Jon sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot, lately. "I apologize for my lapse in memory, _little girl_."

Georgie gasped. "Ooh, that's low, but also unimportant. What does this Martin K. Blackwood look like?"

"I see there is no derailing you...He's pretty tall, at least a head taller than me. Curly red hair, pale skin with lots of freckles. He's not small like me, kind of built like a lumberjack, I think?"

"What do you mean, _you think_?" she scoffed.

"You of all people should know I do not have the greatest handle on reality."

"True," she conceded. "Please, continue." 

Jon paused for a moment before speaking again. "I don't exactly know how to describe him other than _warm_." Georgie sighed dreamily but said nothing. "Every room feels warmer with him in it. Brighter, somehow. And when he smiles..." he trailed off.

"Let me guess- like the sunrise or something else poetic?"

Jon made a face of disgust. "Nothing like that. It's just like a- hm, like somebody is, ah..." he floundered. "Like somebody wrote a song just for you; he just _sees_ right into you."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Not poetic, eh?"

"Georgie..." He buried his head in his hands.

"Sorry, sorry, I'll stop. Want some ice cream?" She passed him the tub, a significant amount of it missing.

Taking the extra spoon, Jon took a bite dejectedly. "What were the other things you wanted to know?"

She recounted the list.

"Both. He's smart and strong. Georgie, I have no idea how he does his dishes. Why is that relevant?"

She shrugged. "Just saying, bowls belong in the bottom of the dishwasher and people who say otherwise aren't allowed to vote, because we obviously can't respect their opinions."

He took another bite. "If you say so. What do bees have to do with anything?"

"Do you mean to tell me you haven't seen The Bee Movie?" Georgie put a hand to her mouth in horror.

"If this some pop culture reference I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Figures." She tugged the tub out of his grip. "My turn with the ice cream. Don’t stop.”

“I don’t know about a bee show, but he likes spiders. I’m going to assume he puts milk in _after_ his cereal like a normal human being. Martin’s affectionate, like really, really, affectionate…”

Jon’s thoughts drifted for a moment.

“Snap out of it, Sims, this is no time for pining.”

“I- what?”

Georgie stood up abruptly. “Hang on a moment.” She returned with the blanket and tossed it into his lap. “You might want this.”

Bemused, he pulled it tight around his shoulders. “I have noticed he is very anxious, especially in large groups of people or new environments.”

“Aww, you two can be anxiety buddies!” She passed the ice cream back to him.

“I don’t know what you have against my style-“ Jon held up a hand, “ And no, that is not an invitation to interrupt me.” Georgie closed her mouth. “But he always wears happy colors, normally something soft.”

“Well, if that isn’t adorable, I don’t know what is.”

“Trust me, I am very well aware of that.”

“Are you?”

“Well,” he slumped further into the couch, “I am now. Is that everything?”

“Oh no, we have barely scratched the surface!” Georgie tugged part of the blanket away from him, wrapping her shins in the knit wool. “I’ve got a basic idea of him, but there is so much more to this story.”

Jon groaned. “ _Georgie…_ ”

“You can’t stop me. So, what brought about this change of heart? I seem to remember you complaining to me about your incompetent assistance a while ago.”

“Don’t remind me. He probably hates me.”

She moaned in sympathy. “You know, I think it’s about time for that wine, what do you say?”

“Glasses are in the cabinet above the dishwasher.”

Georgie returned, a glass of wine in each hand. “Drink. It’s so much easier to get information out of you when you’ve got at least _a little_ alcohol in your system.”

“Thanks,” he said drily, taking a sip anyway.

“What are friends for, if not to get their friends drunk so they can cope with a hopeless crush on a coworker?”

“Not helping.”

“Back to our therapy,” she directed.

Jon grumbled, “If I were paying for this, I would find a new therapist.”

“We both know you would not seek professional help of your own free will.” Georgie pressed her lips together. “Now, _spill._ ”

“I don’t know, exactly, it was just, Martin came into the office, then when he said… _you know._ ” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Something inside of me whispered _oh, oh no_ , then snapped.”

“Geez, you’re more helpless than I thought.” She looked at him appraisingly. “One compliment, huh?”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” Jon frowned into his glass.

Georgie sighed exasperatedly. “Then _drink more_.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He drained the rest of his glass in one gulp.

“That’s more like it. Now, walk me through the first time you met him.”

Jon didn’t even put up an argument this time. “As I said, he was a new assistant, and- are you _taking notes_?”

She smiled innocently, glass balanced precariously on one knee, notepad on the other. “I am your therapist, after all.”

“You’re doing a lousy job of it.”

“Focus. Story.” Georgie snapped her fingers at him.

“I’ll need more to drink, first.”

“Fine…”

~~~

Drunk Jon is a spectacle to behold. Almost the polar opposite of his sober self, Georgie knew it was much easier to get information out of him that way.

“And I just think he’s so cute with his freckles and his dimple on his cheek-“ Jon lay on the floor, several tissues scattered by his side. The empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table; Georgie’s glass still quite full.

“You know,” she said, looking down at her notes, “I think I’ve got a pretty comprehensive history here.” They had covered everything from the Archives drama to Martin’s tea skills.

Jon did not hear her, staring intensely at the ceiling. “It’s hopeless,” he sighed, “He’s so pretty, Tim probably already has asked him out.”

“So you ask Martin out, just to make sure,” she suggested.

Normally, this idea would be met with intense hatred. But Jon just absently fiddled with the carpet. “I don’t even know if he is into men.”

“Hold up, you don’t know this?”

“Nope.”

Georgie clucked her tongue. “Tricky. But I’ve got a pretty good idea, from what you told me.”

He sat up straight, looking at her with surprising fierceness. “How?” he demanded.

“Name one straight person Elias has hired.”

“That’s a fair point…” He hiccupped.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Georgie stood, the street lights outside casting an orange glow on her tan face. “Time for bed, I think. You mind if I kip on your couch? It’s too late to drive home.”

“Why not.” Jon got to his feet unsteadily. “You know where the bedding is.”

Gently prodding him in the back towards the bedroom, she nodded.

“I hope I don’t remember this tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things-  
> the mispronouncing your own name thing is from personal experience  
> i have played georgie's exact role in my friends relationships. several times. i know what i'm doing here.  
> i was planning on skipping over the weekend but the plot said No You Must Do The Thing. so saturday will be next chapter, more georgie/jon hijinks to come folks  
> yes  
> jon lives at 221b baker street. sherlock can always count on him to know how to hide a body.  
> thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgie makes breakfast. Jon talks about his fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy happy fourth of july to my friends in the states! anybody else watch hamilton? THAT ABSOLUTELY LEGENDARY PIECE OF POP CULTURE *TREASURE*?? i just did and it's so good. i have memorized the musical via spotify but watching it live-ish is different man. it slaps  
> anyways  
> raise a glass- to a shorter chapter because i am head empty no thoughts! this one is heavier, but i promise we'll get more thot king tim and loyal subject sasha (and maybe some new faces? who can tell....) soon  
> let me know what you think!  
> xxx

Jon woke up the next morning with an unfortunately clear recollection of the previous night. Swallowing around the taste of cheap wine that lingered in his mouth, he shoved the blankets aside and stood up. As he stretched, gently twisting to the sides, he heard indistinct music playing from somewhere in his flat.

As Jon walked slowly, achingly, towards the kitchen, soft jazz music reached his ears.

_Fly me to the moon_

_Let me play among the stars_

_Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars_

Georgie was bustling around the small kitchen, making breakfast. Swinging her hips in time with music, she turned to face him.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Georgie gave the pan a vigorous toss, flipping the eggs inside.

Jon groaned, taking a seat at the table. “How did you let me drink that much?” he asked, wincing at her loud voice.

“How could I _not?_ You’re so much fun when you’re drunk.” She grinned at him, expecting to see his characteristic frown. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched momentarily.

Head resting on the wooden surface, he said, “I’m glad you enjoy watching me make an _absolute fool_ out of myself.”

With a quick flick of her wrist, the fried eggs landed neatly on a plate. Georgie stacked toast on the edge of the plate, setting in front of Jon. “Made you breakfast, grumpy cat, figured you wouldn’t be in a right state to make yourself food.”

He turned his head to look at her, still laying on the table. Sleep lines crisscrossed his already lined face, but he looked quite soft in the morning light. “Thanks,” he mumbled, “You’re right. I don’t feel like doing anything at all, except maybe investing in mind-wipe technology. Is that a thing yet?”

Georgie winked at him. “If you know where to look. I take it you remember what happened yesterday?”

“All of it.” Sitting up, Jon pulled the plate towards him and began to eat.

“Excellent, that makes things easier!”

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “What _things_?”

“Did you think that was the end of it, Jon?” She laughed, a sound that he did not find entirely comforting.

“Know? I did not, I had hoped, but it seems my hopes are misplaced. Again.”

“It’s not that bad. Can you honestly say you don’t enjoy spending time with me?” Georgie tossed her curly hair, accidentally getting some in her mouth. Choking and spluttering, she still managed to glare at him.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I don’t hate it. I live for moments like those when you completely humiliate yourself.”

“Whatever, Sims,” she huffed. “I’m amazing.”

Jon didn’t say anything, intent on eating his food whilst it was warm. He reached out a free hand and patted her on the head, as one would do with an entertaining dog or cute child.

“Anyways,” she reached out and grabbed a notebook of the counter, “We have quite a lot to discuss here.” She tapped a button on her phone, turning off the music.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Like what?”

She flipped it open, turning to a page covered in scribbled handwriting. Georgie cleared her throat loudly read, “ _Martin is perfect in almost every single way/He has beautiful eyes/I’m too awkward to hold a normal conversation_ -“

“Hang on, I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that last one,” Jon protested, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the blush creeping across his skin.

“Oh yeah, that was just deductive inference. But you get my point, do you not?”

“Do I?” He took another bite of eggs. “And what is that point?”

Georgie took a deep breath, filling her lungs to bursting before saying, “That you are an emotionally repressed _idiot_ who didn’t realize they were pining after their adorable coworker until said coworker flirted with you in the smallest way possible, causing you to have a complete and total system failure and wiped half of your hard drive on basic human decency and customs.”

Jon looked at her, impressed. “You got all that from a few hours of drunk therapy?”

“Am I right?” she pressed.

He groaned. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Georgie smiled. “Right. Now that we’ve got your official feelings-status sorted out, _you have a crush on one Martin K. Blackwood,_ we can work on our next steps.”

“Whoa there, there are _no next steps._ This is a silly phase, I’ll get over it soon.” His voice was hollow as he spoke.

“And why ever not?”

“Georgie…”

She put a hand on his arm. “I am not going to allow you to ignore your feelings because you are too anxious to do anything about them.”

“Georgie, I’m his boss. A relationship, improbable as it is, would be highly inappropriate in a workplace environment.” Jon’s face was stony as he dragged the words out of his throat. “Martin has not given one sign, not _one_ , to indicate he, er, might reciprocate.”

She looked at him in confusion. “I thought you said this whole thing started because he flirted with you? I might not be a psychologist, but _generally speaking,_ flirting and other such behaviors tend to indicate romantic attraction.”

He growled in frustration. “Don’t you get it? It was a joke. Just a stupid game.”

Georgie said nothing, wrapping an arm around his narrow shoulders.

“And even if he was interested in me- and who would, honestly? I’ve been horrible to him…”

“Jon,” she said softly, but he spoke over her.

“There’s the fact that I don’t exactly _do_ sex, or any of it. What if he thinks I’m being a prude, or that I’m broken? I don’t think I could stand being so close yet losing him like that.”

“You aren’t broken.”

Jon sighed. “I know, it’s just hard to remember sometimes. I can’t change myself for anyone, not even-“

Georgie leaned her head against him, and he molded around her. Things might not have always been the best between them, but now he realized how important their friendship was.

“How about we watch a movie? A good one, with lots of guns and explosions?”

“That might-“ His voice was shaky as he replied, “-be nice.”

She sat up straight, turning her body to face him. “ _Might_? My ideas are always great.”

“Like that time you decided to see if you could really walk around below London via the sewer system?”

“That,” Georgie said primly, “Was for purely academic research. You of all people should understand.”

~~~

Georgie insisted on watching the first Iron Man movie. “It has explosions and guns,” she said when he asked why.

Jon didn’t complain. He was happy to sit on the couch, watching in mind-numbing passivity, as Tony Stark became Iron Man.

Georgie lay across the sofa, feet propped on his lap. The blanket she had brought was proving quite useful, the box of chocolates between them.

When the movie was over, Jon realized he didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to face the facts, the fears, the real life. “Can we watch another?” he asked hesitantly.

Georgie looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“If you want to go home, don’t feel pressured to- it was just a thought, you don’t have to-“

She laughed, tossing a plastic wrapper at him. “Of course, don’t worry about it.”

The opening theme began to play for the second Iron Man ( _“There are more than one?”_ ) Jon felt himself drifting off, content to live in the fictional for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asexuals *slams hands down on table* are *kicks over chair* VALID *flips said table, stands on it shouting* asexuals *aggressively headbangs* ARE *sets the white house on fire* VALID *singlehandedly brings the world to its knees to learn kindness*  
> also  
> jon and georgie had a marvel movie marathon that day, jon getting surprisingly into it and going feral on all the academically incorrect villains, eventually falling asleep somewhere around the civil war  
> georgie lets him, like a good friend


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wakes up to an empty flat and a realization. Elias says something mildly concerning after the Archives gang discover something about Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's late, i've been working on my geat british bake off au fic- i have to learn a TON of recipes man it's a lot of research. but here it is! thanks to my amazing beta reader, she has literally saved my butt so many times, she's incredible. hope y'all enjoy!!  
> xxx

Jon’s neck ached as he blinked his way into consciousness. _Must have fallen asleep at my desk again._ But as he looked around, he realized several things.

  1. He was in his flat, sprawled on the couch with a blanket across his lap
  2. He had very little memory of how he had gotten there
  3. The fact that his first thought was _I must be at work_ was mildly concerning



Sitting up, yawning and stretching, the afghan fell to the floor with a muffled thud. Something seemed to be missing, although he wasn’t sure what that something was. The lights outside his window told him it was either very early in the morning or just past sunset.

_What century is it?_

Jon was disoriented as he walked slowly to the kitchen. A singular bulb glowed, its reflection warped in the nicks and scuffs on the wooden table. He spotted a garishly yellow sticky note on the fridge door.

_Jon- You seemed pretty out of it, so I just let you sleep. I had to leave, the Admiral needs food at some point. Text me when you get this. Sweet dreams!_

_p.s. you fell asleep halfway through Thor: the Dark World (a totally justified reaction) if you want to watch more when you wake up_

Jon smiled slightly, the paper wrinkling under his fingers. _Thoughtful._

His phone sat, dejected, on the counter. The date blinked up at him, the brightness stabbing his eyes. It was early Sunday morning, his least favorite day of the week.

_Good morning, Georgie. Thank you for coming over this weekend, it was nice. I hope you got home okay, tell the Admiral hello from his favorite person._

The flat around him was empty, echoing. It felt so different without Georgie there, he realized. Jon caught himself turning to the side, words clenched between his lips, before he realized the shadows did not care what he had to say. The couch laughed at his singular TV watching, taunting the cold cushions beside him. The strange way his stomach clenched when he opened the cupboards to see dishes never used for company was entirely alien to him.

You see, Jon was new to the world of pining. Too inexperienced to know that when The FeelsTM hit you eat chocolate while crying to Adele. Instead, he scrubbed his flat clean, cobwebs and dust bunnies joining the list of things he no longer swept under the rug.

At half past ten, his phone buzzed. With hands red from chemicals and rags, he swiped it open to a text from Georgie.

_good morning sleeping beauty_

_you were out for like…13?? hours???_

_how do you feel?_

_Like I transcended time and was returned to the wrong year._

_yeah that sounds about right_

_glad i could see you this weekend!_

_I’m very grateful for your assistance, it was lovely to see you as well._

_does this mean you’re going to take my advice_

_Absolutely not_

_that’s what i thought_

_jonathan sims how DARE you_

_the Admiral clearly loves me MORE than ANYONE ELSE_

_Hmm, whatever you say._

_fight me on this!_

_i will fight god over half a bagel, i will throw hands with you to determine who is MY cat’s favorite person_

_I don’t doubt you will._

_square up buddy_

_I am going to decline your offer, as tempting as it may seem. Did you get home okay?_

_aww look at that_

_At what?_

_that place must have been real good for you, despite the creepy boss, or something phenomenal happened_

_you actually seem to care about people now_

_Of course I care, Georgie. You’re important to me._

_i’m goin to cry_

_that is the equivalent of you proclaiming lifelong adoration for me_

_platonic adoration_

_Platonic, obviously_

_and he didn’t deny it_

_i’m screenshotting this for posterity_

_You do that. Thank you again for coming over._

_dw about it_

_oh and jon?_

_Yes?_

_take care of yourself, okay?_

_Yes ma’am._

_now go get your man_

Jon sighed, setting his phone to the side. Georgie’s words refused to leave his mind, echoing around the caves in his brain with annoying persistence. They weren’t entirely unpleasant, almost sweet to the tongue, but when he thought about what that required the sentence grew into a snake, fangs dripping venom.

No, it would make sense to wait this silly feeling out. Nothing to be done but to focus on something else.

Once his flat shone with an intense cleanliness almost alien to it, Jon realized he needed something else to distract himself from the fears he had discovered.

A drastic _something_. He groaned long-sufferingly but could not deny the slight excitement rising in his stomach. Jon pushed aside a closet full of greyscale clothing, revealing a box hidden in back. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for an inevitable blow, before pulling it out.

It was the size of a toaster, black cardboard edges battered. Several old stickers decorated the lid, advertising for slogans and bands long dead. Jon tossed it onto his bed and dived again into his closet.

This time, his prize was much larger. Taking a seat on his bed, he slowly unlatched the guitar case, pulling out an electric guitar. He ran his fingers over the stiff strings, memories floating, dreamlike, through his mind.

_Dingy pubs, grimy windows, and slightly intoxicated crowds as the Toy Soldier sang her tale of military woe._

_The bass guitar slung across O’Reilly’s back as she stomped out onto stage, followed by an ecstatically deranged Gunpowder Tim._

_Swaggering around with the confidence of an immortal space bandit, bellowing the words he had written into the night._

Jon shook his head, clearing the nostalgia laden water from his ears. He lifted the lid off the small box to reveal his props- used eyeliner, battered boots, and sitting, triumphant on the top of the pile, his old goggles.

“Never thought it would come to this.”

With a concentrated frown, Jon began to play. Notes he had once been able to rip out of the guitar with lightning speed came slower, but still, he played. He sang and watched his fingers travel up and down the frets, plucking music out of the lifeless guitar.

He played until his fingers bled, the night sky darkening his windows.

~~~

_Confidence, Captain D’Ville, confidence._

Jon walked into his office the next day with a head clearer than water (though as fiery as vodka). He could do this.

What was _this_ , exactly?

Among other things, walking into work as if he hadn’t completely embarrassed himself beyond the repair of social customs and going about his day like a normal person.

It was a tall order.

Jon faced his first hurdle a few steps outside the lift doors. As the electronic _ding_ signaled the end of his decent, they slid open to reveal-

“Hiya boss! How was your weekend?” Tim grinned ferociously down at him, a manic glint in his eye.

Jon, to his credit, did not shrink away into the wall. With the repeated thought of _confidence_ swirling through his brain, his spine straightened, shoulders squared to the world in acceptance. “It was- revelatory.”

His smile widened at this, reaching proportions a human face should not be able to due to the laws of anatomy and sanity. “I see.”

Jon was sure he did.

Before he could say another word, Tim leaned in close, inspecting his face. “I say, boss,” he backed away, delighted, “You are wearing _eyeliner_!”

The weight of the accused pencil increased in Jon’s pocket as he stood through Tim’s scrutiny. “Yes, I am. Do you have an issue with that?” He couldn’t help but assuming a defensive stance, ready to deflect any potential attacks. 

Tim did not answer, instead twisting his body around to yell down the hall. “Sasha! You need to see this!”

“Is this really necces-“

Sasha arrived on the scene, skidding slightly. “What is- oh. OH!”

Jon ran a distracted hand through his hair, loose and curling around his shoulders. “It doesn’t look _that_ bad.”

“No, no, you look great!” she hurried to reassure him. “It’s just…”

“Surprising?” Tim supplied, looking at her.

“Surprising,” she agreed. Sasha put a hand on her hip, staring at Jon critically. “Wow, you’re really good.”

The force of their eyes burned into him. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he muttered.

Truth be told, his hand was quite practiced at the application, but the simple line he had gone for were much smaller than he was accustomed to.

“Did you just say-“ Tim could barely contain his excitement, “-you had a _lot of practice?_ Jon, did you have an ‘emo phase’?”

He opened his mouth to reply, unsure of what to say, before Sasha cut across him. “Wait, I know someone who won’t want to miss this.” She winked at Tim before calling for Martin.

He walked, unhurried, up the hall towards them. “What’s up?” His jumper was much larger than normal, the folds of it collecting at his wrists and waist, as Jon’s brain helpfully noted.

Faced with an inevitable conversation with Martin, Jon’s throat went dry and all thoughts evaporated. He doubted his ability to form a cohesive sentence.

“Jon here,” Sasha playfully shoved his arm, “Was about to tell us a _very important story_ about his high school emo phase.”

Martin’s cheerful smile dropped, quickly replaced with a look of incredulous delight. “Jon had an emo phase?”

Tim grinned slyly. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“ _You had an-_ “ He cut off abruptly.

Jon sighed. “Yes, I’m wearing eyeliner. Yes, I had an emo phase. Am I allowed to leave now?”

“Oh, no, absolutely not! We need details, Sims, details!”

Martin didn’t say anything, his face a peculiar shade of pink. Jon did not have any brainpower left to analyze this particular development. “What is there to tell? I went through a phase, as we all do, that has given me the ability to put on eyeliner. Why is this so hard to believe?” he demanded.

“Well,” Sasha pursed her lips, “how to say this delicately? Our boss, always so prim and proper in his oxford’s and sweater vests, showing up to work absolutely _rocking_ eyeliner then revealing that he had an emo phase in high school is a bit of a shocker, if I’m being honest.”

Martin nodded in earnest agreement.

“University, actually.”

“What?”

“It was in uni. I was-“ He faltered, unsure of whether or not to reveal he had been the lead singer in the Mechanisms during his university years. Jon decided to go with the safer option. “A big fan of that sort of thing.”

Tim took hold of him by the soldiers. “Unbelievable.”

At this point, Jon could no longer bear standing in the hallway, being scrutinized by Tim and Sasha while Martin looked pointedly away. Too many things to say, not enough words to say them. “Can I get to work, please? We actually have a job to do, if I’m recalling correctly.”

Sasha groaned. “Party pooper.”

But they all filed away to their respective tasks, leaving him blissfully incompletely alone.

~~~

Jon struggled to concentrate on the pages in front of him. _No surprise there._ The sounds of the Archives drifted in through the open door, muddling in his brain. Martin had been avoiding him, Tim wouldn’t stop teasing him, and Sasha was actually doing her job. 

The least pressing and coincidentally, the most worrying, was Martin. He hadn’t said more than a handful of words to Jon all day, a fact that, considering his incredibly outgoing personality, was quite worrying. _Was it something I did?_

Jon was startled out of his reverie by a crisp knock on the doorframe. It was Elias, probably come to add another ten thousand tasks to the one he was struggling to complete.

He tried to school his features into what would be considered polite. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

In the split second before Elias responded, Jon noticed something odd. When Tim smiled, his eyes crinkled and lit up. Sasha beamed with the light of a thousand suns. Martin had eyes of softest candlelight.

But Elias had neon embers lighting his eyes. Jon blinked and it vanished.

“Just wanted to check in on you, see how the Archivist is doing.” Elias walked up to the desk and leaned against it, elbows supported by the heavy wood.

“I’m doing well, thank you.” Jon tried to ignore the way he was looking at him, with a hunger that was beyond attraction.

He hummed. “You have beautiful eyes, you know. I had never really noticed before, but now-“

Several red flags went off inside Jon’s head, ringing the alarms. He looked up in surprise, sure that this was not a compliment. That _hunger_ was still there, sharp edges running along his skin.

“No, you may not-“ Jon forced himself to calm down, to breathe. He swallowed before speaking again. “You may not have them.”

Elias laughed, actually laughed. “Oh, they aren’t for me, Archivist, not for me.”

Jon shivered, something fundamentally wrong with that sentence. What, he did not know exactly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos feed my soul


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new face in the Archives. How will this change the dynamic of our favorite researchers?
> 
> OR
> 
> i couldn't wait any longer so without further ado here is the one, the only, the ms. melanie king

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a few hours later than i intended but who cares? it's saturday fools, i have kept my self-imposed deadline. a few things about this fic, i have literally no idea what the plot is going to do. it's doing it's own thing, and as such, the effectiveness of canon varies as we go. do beings like jane prentiss and agnes montague exist in this world? yes absolutely. but they are pretty harmless, nobody dies at least. elias is still all-knowing and all-seeing (unfortunately) but the world is not going to end, rest assured. pretty much writing a crackfic at this point with doses of angst as i, god, see fit  
> anyways hope y'all enjoy!  
> xxx

“Statement of-“

A sharp knock on the door interrupted Jon’s recording. He sighed. “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal a petite woman, short hair dyed soft pink. Her hair, however, was the only soft thing about her. The angles of her limbs sharpened the wicked curve of her mouth, blue eyes glaring out of her pale face.

“Melanie King. I was told to come to you for assistance.”

“Ms. King, I assure we at the Institute are doing everything we can to follow up on your statement. Unfortunately, contact with the being formerly known as Sarah Baldwin has been impossible at this-“

“No,” she cut across him, “I’m not here about that.”

“Then how can I help you?” He tried to be polite, but a wave of fizzling anger had begun to spark in her presence.

Melanie’s face reshaped itself from defensive to slight confusion. “I think,” she spoke slowly, tasting each word carefully, “I may have just signed a job contract.”

Jon groaned. “Did the man who gave you the job look like the definition of a capitalist?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah, he did. Not a good look for him, might I add.” She resumed glaring around the room. “Can you explain what just happened to me?”

“In the simplest way possible,” he said, “Wait, nevermind, let me- TIM! SASHA! MARTIN!” Jon called out of his open door. At the bemused expression on Melanie's face, he added, "They are my..." He deliberated for a moment on what to say. Friends? Assistants? "Coworkers," he decided.

Melanie nodded but said nothing.

Moments later, the troops arrived on the battlefield. "Mr. Boss Sims sir!" Tim struck a ridiculous soldier's pose, rigidly stiff to the point of hilarity.

Sasha leaned against his side, surveying the scene. As her copper eyes drank in Jon sitting at his desk, Melanie standing with her arms crossed opposite him, she smiled. "Are you here to give him a piece of your mind? Honestly, I wouldn't blame you, he can be quite aggravating." She winked conspiratorially.

Martin looked offended. "What's this about, Jon?" he asked, not making eye contact with anyone.

"First off, Sasha, that was unnecessary, totally uncalled for."

"Sure it was..."

Jon knew he couldn't win this particular battle. "Melanie, I would like to introduce you to Tim Stoker, Sasha James, and Martin Blackwood."

Melanie watched distrustfully as her new coworkers smiled and murmured a _hello_ in turn.

"This is Melanie King," he added as the silence stretched out awkwardly, strands breaking and twisting like kneaded dough.

Comprehension dawned on Martin's face. "Didn't you give a statement a while back?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did." She looked slightly mollified at the recognition.

"I was working on the follow-up for that the other day, as a matter of fact." Sasha frowned. "Tough one to verify though, Sarah Baldwin seems to have fallen off the face of the earth."

Melanie rubbed at a spot on her arm anxiously, showing slight worry for the first time. It was an interesting change of pace from the anger Jon could already tell was her default emotion. The fire in her eyes did not dim in the slightest, but just... shifted. Whereas before they were hungry for something else to burn, now they slowly smoldered away inside her, eating up at her very being.

"I'm telling you, I know what I saw, I can talk to you more if you like but-"

Jon cut across her rambling, "Although we are still working on the research for the statement, she is not here about that."

"Good mercy, man, spit it out, will you?" Tim asked incredulously. "Get to the point!"

For the first time, Melanie cracked a smile at this. _Ah, lovely, another person who derives pleasure at my expense._

"As I was saying," he glared at Tim with no real venom, "Ms. King is the newest employee at the Institute."

Sasha straightened up, a steely glint in her eyes. "New hire, you say?" she asked thoughtfully. Jon nodded.

Tim looked Melanie up and down appraisingly, searching and scanning for answers in the way she carried herself. "Welcome to hell," he said finally. "I hope you live to regret it."

Martin walked forward cautiously, sticking a hand out for her to shake. After a moment's hesitation, she shook it, letting go quickly.

"So what dreadful circumstances conspired against you to result in fate chewing you up and spitting you out here?" Tim asked cheerfully.

Jon massaged his temples. "Timothy, this is a workplace, not some sort of cult or something." He frowned. "At least, I don't think so. You signed the contract of your own free will, correct?"

"I-I think so?"

Sasha laughed slightly. "That is not a question you respond to with a question." She brushed a hand over her sleeves, brushing off a small imperfection invisible to the rest of them. Jon marveled at her ability to stay so nonchalant in any situation, calm, collected, in control of herself and the room at large.

"Yes, I believe so," she said more firmly this time. "That's not to say it wasn't the weirdest job interview I've ever had in my entire life, but I was not coerced into accepting."

"That's not what we mean," Tim muttered darkly. At a glare from Jon, he stopped talking.

"What was weird about it?" Martin asked.

Tim leaned against the doorframe for support, clearly here to listen to the story, whatever it may be. Sasha followed his lead and took a precarious seat on the edge of the desk. She met Jon's nonverbal reprimand with a look that, if translated into words, would not be fit for polite ears.

"I wasn't exactly looking for a job when I decided to pay this dumpster fire of an institution a visit." Melanie mirrored Tim's body language, leaning against the tall bookshelves on the opposite side of the room. Martin remained standing next to her, looking politely awkward, the human version of a baby pangolin.

"But," she continued, "After a few words with your creepy capitalist boss, I somehow found myself presented with a job contract and the offer of a salary much higher than my current situation in employment. So I signed it."

Tim whistled through his teeth, hands jammed into his pockets with a chaotic grace. "Bad move, mate, bad move."

"Tim _please_ ," he sighed exasperatedly. "We aren't going to eat you, Melanie, ignore whatever they say."

Martin feigned offense. "Really, Jon, after everything we've been through together?"

At that moment, trying to wrangle a business meeting with Tim and an unwilling Melanie, his words struck Jon like a punch to the gut. The teasing effortlessness, something so foreign to him and Martin, caused his mind to swim pleasantly, enjoying the slight break in awkwardness. The word _together_ danced in his brain, the curves of the letters lit by a soft glow of happiness.

Hiding the jump in his stomach, he said, "Correction: ignore everything they say, minus Martin."

"When have I ever steered you wrong?" Sasha piped up, leaning back on her hands. Melanie watched this exchange with an academic intensity Jon could appreciate, although he did not understand it fully.

"Correction number two," Jon smiled at her, grin rising to his lips with almost strange ease, "Just ignore whatever Tim says."

The accused party just shrugged complacently. "We might not eat you," he said, "But that's not to say _It_ won't."

Melanie did not look frightened in the least. "What's _It_?" she asked.

"You'll know it when you see it. But if you see it, it's already too late."

Sasha groaned. "Not that stupid tunnels monster thing again, give it a rest!"

"Just think about it!" Tim said, halfway between pleading and joking, "We don't know what's down there, just the place I would hide if I were some eldritch abomination intent on causing mass mayhem."

"You already are," Jon sighed. "But you see my point, Melanie. Best not to think about what he says for too long. I doubt he spends much time thinking either, to tell you the truth."

"Hey, I'm right here. She might think you don't like me, boss."

"What an astute observation."

Martin laughed, the buttery warmth of it spreading smoothly over the situation. "Whatever they say, it'll be nice to have a new face around here. Oh, and to help with the workload, I suppose," he added as an afterthought.

"Very much appreciated, Martin," she said. "But still, I have no idea what I'm even supposed to be doing. What's my job? I don't know what I just signed up for..." She trailed off, lost.

"Don't you worry about it, we'll help you figure everything out," Sasha said comfortingly. "You'll get used to us- I mean the Institute- in no time at all."

Jon said, "Thank you, that is precisely what I was hoping you would say."

Tim pushed off from the wall, standing up straight. "Right-o!" He clapped his hands together briskly. Martin flinched at the sound. "Here's the drill, Ms. King- you show up to work and we read through statements, sometimes listening to the recordings Jon makes for us. Then we use our powers of persuasion-" He shimmered his fingers, "-to get into places we /probably/ shouldn't be for the safety of everyone involved, and do research on them. Verify names, dates, addresses, the like.”

She looked doubtful. “Sounds pretty straightforward.”

“It normally is,” Sasha agreed. “Most of the time. Every once in a while we get a statement that won’t record digitally without corrupting the file, and… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“That seems like a plan,” Melanie said. Everything about her, from the way she carried herself to the slight force behind everything she said, suggested she was raring for a fight, and encounter, something to throw herself into body and soul and come out on top.

“There are a few rules around here that nobody talks about, however,” Tim said, smiling crookedly.

“Really? Like what?” she asked, testing him.

Martin fidgeted with the edge of his jumper, the motion standing out in the corner of Jon’s eye. _That looks very comfortable…_

“Number one- we do not, I repeat _do not_ go into Artifact Storage alone.” Sasha shivered at this. “Number two- if you ask Jon a question, be prepared for the answer. _All of it_. It is impossible to shut him up when you get him started on…” Tim cast around for something to say.

“Emulsifiers?” Martin suggested.

“Yeah, stuff like that. Number three-“ he ticked off on his fingers, “If Martin asks if you want tea, the answer is always yes. No matter what! I can promise you it is not a choice you will regret.”

Martin blushed. “It’s not that great.”

“Yes, it is, love, don’t you dare say otherwise or else,” Sasha warned. He squeaked softly.

Melanie nodded in understanding. “Got it. Anything else I should be aware of?”

Sasha and Martin both shook their heads _no_ , but Tim continued to speak. “One last thing, before I forget- take every chance you can to flirt with Jonny boy here. Fluster him to bits, I won’t tell why right now but-“ He clapped once again, “Just trust me on it.”

Jon groaned. “Not again, Tim, don’t brainwash the new hire into playing your _stupid_ game.”

“Annoy Jon?” Melanie rubbed her hands together, imitating evil delight. “I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET'S GO LESBIANS LET'S GO LET'S GO  
> who else is anxiously and eagerly awaiting the arrival of basira and daisy in the ominous final episode in act one of season five?  
> because i'm freakin out man this is Not Good Not Good At All I Can't Lose Any More Children  
> if you would comment and tell me your favorite part/line that would make my day!!!  
> for reference, here is a picture of a baby pangolin  
> http://www.karellafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Roxy-8.jpg  
> they are so adorable!! my friend said they look like they are waiting to awkwardly ask you to dance and i wholeheartedly agree


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a thought. Tim has some words for him (don't worry, they're nice ones). Martin gets tea.
> 
> WARNING: NOT BETA READ. MANY BAD IDEAS BUT HERE THEY ARE  
> CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN PERIL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohoho what's this? is it some angsty plot? in my fic? surely not!  
> it's kinda short and early bc i'm stuck in an internet rabbit hole on how to make perfect sponge and meringue temperatures and stuff for my other wip, (the great british bake off starring our favorite gay podcast characters please check it out!) so enjoy some angst and slight comfort! let me know what you think  
> xxx

As Jon slowly made his way down the hallway, he heard the telltale rustle of an expensive jacket signaling the arrival of Elias on the scene. It wasn't always easy to notice him, something about the head of the Institue allowed him to blend into most situations.

At least, when he wanted to. If Elias wanted to make his presence known, you could not ignore him in the slightest. His voice carried even in the most crowded situations, his eyes always managing to alight on you and _you alone_ were drawn in.

As of late, however, Elias seemed to have been slipping in his camouflage act. Jon noticed him creeping around corners, lurking in the shadows just long enough to be considered _strange_. Either he had taken to a more intense form of surveillance or he wasn't as careful anymore.

Jon shuddered slightly as Elias brushed past him. The air around the man was thick, almost like television static made physical. The atmosphere he carried was unpleasant, pretentious, and condescending.

What was more, he had been especially strange around Jon. Spending far too long just _looking_ at him, not the flirtatious stares he associated with Tim but something akin to a twisted form of wonder.

He felt like a cut of meat being examined before sale, his best qualities and worst attributes somehow lain bare.

It was oddly violating, being seen like that.

Eye contact was something those working in the Archives had come to dread, especially when Elias was involved. His frigid blue eyes captured your gaze, holding you frozen like a fish on a hook. _He can see into your soul, read your mind, uncover your tax fraud with just a glance,_ Tim had joked.

As Jon tried to walk down the hall without looking at his boss this thought crossed his mind more than once. He had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. So why was he so cautious about this?

Something was off about Elias Bouchard, something deeply, fundamentally wrong with the way he spoke, the strange way he walked around the Institute like it was his castle, the way he treated Jon like a puppy being trained in obedience school. A viper, no matter how docile, can poison you with a single bite. Why would you give it the opportunity to?

Interacting with Elias was the same way. Just because he was mostly civil didn't hide the fact he was a living breathing toxin. Best not to intake it directly, or risk the consequences.

When Jon passed by him, he held his breath slightly, waiting for the oh-so-common _Hello, Archivist_. With his eyes averted, Elias could not hold any power of him.

It was silly, this aversion to eye contact. Jon knew this. Mr. Bouchard was simply an off-putting boss, an unpleasant person to be around certainly. But there was nothing else going on, nothing to justify Jon's growing paranoia around the man.

_"You have beautiful eyes...oh, they aren't for me, Archivist, not for me."_

Jon inhaled sharply, the air no less unpleasant in his wake. The faint scent of marijuana drifted around Elias like a subtle perfume, leaving nothing but an unsettled sensation in one's stomach behind.

"You good there, Jon?" He jumped slightly at the sudden noise, turning to see Tim standing in the doorway to an office. 

There was no teasing tone in Tim's voice, no hidden flirtatiousness in his body language. He simply _cared_ , something Jon could not wrap his head around.

"Yeah, I'm-" He swallowed, leaning slightly against the wall for support. Tim started forward, ready to catch him if he should fall. "I'm fine."

He frowned, doubtful. "You sure about that?"

"I'm _fine_ ," Jon said, "It's just... Elias."

"Ah, I see, he can really mess with your head, can't he?" Tim said seriously. He gently rubbed at one of the few worm scars on his hands, slightly anxious. "Did he say anything strange this time?"

Jon frowned at the concern in his voice. "No, not really, although being around him for too long is enough to decompose a body." He shuddered. "I hate him."

"Get in line, boss," Tim said. "The man is the physical embodiment of spite. Are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he bristled. "Why do you care so much?"

Tim's eyes were sad as he said, "Let people care about you, Jon. Let them worry, let them fuss. You need a decent amount of care to survive. And I-" He swallowed. "-can't lose you too."

Jon reeled mentally at this. _Who was this person? Tim was normally so... Tim. Cocky, self-assured, a swagger in every step, teasing and joking. This side of him, the vulnerable, caring part of him was so soft and open, it was almost shocking._

He swallowed, trying to remember what Georgie had tried to teach him about connecting with people. Jon put a hand on his arm, comforting. "You don't need to stress about me, I'll be fine. Better than fine, actually," he said as Tim stared at him, almost equally surprised. "It'll take more than an idiot boss to take me down."

"I'm not too sure about that, but please be careful, okay?"

Tim squeezed his shoulder with a firm hand, grounding. There was nothing uncomfortable or suggestive about it, this was simply a man who had seen too much wanting to protect his friend.

Jon blinked, slightly confused at how comfortable, how natural the situation was. "If you don't mind me asking," he said slowly, tentative at messing up the cautious conversation, "What do you mean, you can't lose me too?"

Tim took a deep breath, letting it whistle out softly through his teeth. "I lost someone very close to me to something I should have been able to protect them from, I can't let that happen again," he said finally.

"Wait- you... I'm-"

"Yes, Jon," he rolled his eyes, "I care about you. Do you really find that so hard to believe?"

The honest answer was _yes_ , but somehow he didn't think that was the right thing to say. He managed a noncommittal shrug. The eye contact he held now was so different from the way Elias seemed to swallow you with his eyes, it was a nice change.

Tim slipped back into his cocky self slightly. "Well, you certainly are not the greatest at emotions, are you?"

"No, not exactly," he muttered.

"Well, boss, it's time you learned. Here and now, man to man, let me tell you something very important. Are you listening?"

Jon nodded, long strands of hair falling into his face.

"You are my friend-" Tim spoke slowly, deliberately, making sure he didn't miss a word. "I care about you and your well-being. _You are my friend, and I am allowed to worry,_ alright?"

"Alright." Jon's voice was soft, tentative. Maybe Georgie was onto something with trying to form normal human relationships. It felt nice, comforting, and safe, to know that somebody in the cold world cared whether or not he was warm at night. " _Friends_ ," he said softly, more to himself than to Tim.

"Friends," he echoed firmly. Tim tentatively wrapped his arms around Jon's frail body, wrapping him into a hug. He tensed at first, unfamiliar with the touch, before melting into the embrace, his arms around Tim's middle.

"Hey, Stoker, I was- oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?" Melanie walked toward them, hands full of files.

Tim groaned melodramatically as he broke away. "We were having _a moment_ , Ms. King."

She raised an eyebrow.

Had Jon been functioning like his old self, he might have been embarrassed, frustrated, even, to be found in this situation. But something inside him had shifted when Tim had squeezed him close, a reminder that he was a human who needed other humans around him. Jon couldn't afford to piss everybody off, he could annoy most of the general population. But he found the word _friend_ , however unfamiliar, was sweet on his tongue, warming his throat.

So instead of snapping, Jon simply smiled. "What do you need, Melanie?"

"Ran into Elias on the stairs, somehow ended up with these-" she indicated the armful of papers she was carrying, "-and I have no idea what I am supposed to do with them."

Tim scooped them out of her hands and led her down the hallway. "These are for the pre-Jon filing era," he explained as they walked away from Jon, "We put these into the piles on the cabinets and..."

Their voices faded away, leaving Jon alone again in the hall but not lonely. Feeling a strange bubble of happiness in his stomach, he stuck his head into the office where Martin sat, anxiously flipping through statements. "Do you want me to make you some tea?" he asked, deciding to do something nice for once.

Martin looked up in surprise. "Yeah, that sounds nice, you sure you don't want me to take care of it?"

"It's just tea, I think I can manage. Besides, you look quite busy currently," Jon said, smiling slightly.

Martin looked doubtful but smiled gratefully all the same. "Thank you," he said softly.

"My pleasure."

And for once, it truly was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what was your favorite part?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power goes out. Melanie takes charge. Martin comes out (officially). Jon is Soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i honestly didn't think i would be able to get this chapter out on time, but look at that! we did it! i had an absolute BLAST with this one, cramming as much fluff as i can into it while warding off The Plot with a cross. please let me know what you think, comments and kudos make me so happy! enjoy and thanks for reading  
> xxx

The London sky loomed gray and heavy on Jon's shoulders as he walked the short distance from the tube to the Institute. The oppressing weight of the clouds bore down on him, but he walked with a distinct spring in his step. For once, he wasn't dreading going to work. He knew he had friends there who cared about him, people that would miss him if he was gone.

And, well, there was Martin. Jon would never admit it to himself but he would do _anything_ to make him smile again. _He has the best smile..._

The air around him crackled with the sharp smell of ozone. Relieved to be out of the way of the coming storm, Jon stepped into the (relatively) safe building.

“Good morning, boss!” Tim’s cheery voice cut through the stuffiness of the Archives.

“Hello, Tim.” Jon felt no flash of irritation that he had begun to associate with Tim’s presence. _He’s growing on me,_ he thought.

He raised his hands above his head and stretched, his shirt riding up ever so slightly to showcase a strip of hard, flat stomach. “Anything exciting going to happen today?” He yawned, “Ghost hunt for _Joe Spooky_? Melanie could help us find him, she’s the expert now.”

“Maybe another day, unfortunately, I think Elias wants us to re-catalog some of Artefact storage,” he said.

Tim winced. “Sasha won’t be too pleased about that, she hates it there.”

Jon opened his office door and slung his bag into the chair. “Don’t we all…”

It turns out, Tim was quite happy to volunteer to assist in that particular area. Sasha was the lead on that project, but obviously, that had nothing to do with the fact Tim had been so quick to offer his help, it was completely unrelated.

He worked with his door open, typing up handwritten notes on statements, sipping on a mug of Martin’s tea periodically. Sasha’s laughter drifted through it, reminding Jon they probably weren’t getting any work done.

That fact didn’t seem to bother him as much as should have, not when Martin would stop by every so often with a question about something or other. Melanie kept to herself, reading through old files for “research”.

“Hey, Jon, I was wondering if-“ Martin’s words were drowned in a sharp clap of thunder. The lights shut off with a bang, Jon’s computer screen going dark. He swore, uselessly jamming the power button.

Melanie called from her perch on a desk in the next room, “Is the power out?”

“No, Elias decided to have a spontaneous dance party in the dark,” Jon retorted sarcastically. “ _Yes, the power is out._ ”

There was some fumbling from Martin’s direction, then a small beam of light cut through the darkness. “I’ve got a torch on my phone, we could use that until we find-“

The light suddenly bobbed and fell to the ground as a dark shape collided with him. “Oof, sorry, who is that?”

“Martin,” he groaned from the floor.

“Marto, my bad, here let me help-“ Tim pulled him to his feet. When the light from Martin’s phone hit him, Jon could see his hair was mussed quite badly, the top buttons on his shirt open. Sasha held his hand, looking if possible even worse. Her normally professional air was gone, replaced by an almost drunk giddiness.

“Where were you?” Jon asked.

She tugged at the collar on her blouse, straightening it. “Working,” she said.

The telltale thunk of Doc Marten boots announced Melanie’s arrival. “They were making out,” she stage-whispered, “Passionately. I could hear them from half the building away.”

“Why do you care so much, Jon?” He could _hear_ the smirk in Tim’s voice. “Jealous?”

“No, Tim, I’m not jealous,” he groaned.

Sasha laughed. “You should be.”

Melanie clapped her hands together, taking the light from Martin and shining it under her chin, highlighting her face. “Focus, guys, focus. Tim- not all of us are lusting after you. Sasha- your shirt is lopsided, put it back on next time straight alright? Jon- just because it is dark in here doesn’t mean I can’t come and kick your butt, so I would suggest you figure out the situation with the power before I do so.”

Tim gasped. “Are you going to let her out-do you in bossiness levels, Jon?”

He groaned, “She’s right, unfortunately, let’s hear the woman out.”

“And what about me?” Martin asked tentatively.

“You’re doing great, keep being fantastic,” she said.

Sasha quickly adjusted her blouse. “How can you tell my shirt is lopsided?”

“It’s the vibes.”

“Alright then, how are the vibes now?” she asked.

“Perfectly straight. Straighter than anyone in this room, might I add.”

There was a clunk by the door, Martin had dropped something. “I-what?” he spluttered. “I’m str-“

“Martin, Martin, Martin,” Tim said, “You are physically unable to complete that sentence truthfully.”

Sasha laughed. “Sorry, love, but you’re about as gay as it gets.”

Martin turned beseechingly to Melanie. “Tell them that I’m-“

“That what? That you are interested in women? We both know that’s not true.” Melanie patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. By a show of hands, who here is _not_ straight?”

Fabric rustled all around. “Oh, right, sorry, I forgot I have the light. Those who raised their hands, say _aye_.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

Melanie added her vote to the chorus, Jon coming in a little late. Martin began to say something when a new voice said, “Aye.”

“Elias?” Sasha asked incredulously.

“I am he. I just wanted to let you know the storm outside has knocked out the power to this building, along with several others in the vicinity. The Institute’s backup generators appear to have failed, so we will be without power for at least the next several hours. If you need anything, I will be in my office until five.” With that, the click of his heels retreated up the hallway.

They sat in shocked silence for a minute, Jon reeling mentally from the discoveries. _Elias was gay in some shape or form._ Great, something he had in common with the prick. But, more importantly… _Martin liked men._ He couldn’t stop his stomach from turning several unmistakably happy flips.

“So, it seems like since the power is out,” Sasha said slowly, “We won’t be able to get any work done.”

“That is correct,” Jon said.

“So we’re free to go?” Tim sounded hopeful.

As it turned out, the storm raging outside was too dangerous to go home in. Which is why, ten minutes later, Jon found himself on the carpeted floor of an old storage room while the others bustled around, pulling blankets and pillows from _somewhere._ He didn’t want to know where.

“So I’ll just put that _there_ and this one _here_ -“ Martin was silhouetted against the old electric lamp they had found, spreading moth-eaten blankets over the floor. “And then it will be all nice and comfy.”

“I’m still confused as to what is going on,” Melanie said from the doorway, watching Sasha hit Tim repeatedly with a pillow.

“Let’s summarize, here- ow, Sasha, is that one made of plastic? Anyways, we can’t go home. The power is out, so no use in trying to do any work. Martin found a stash of old bedding from when Gertrude was the Archivist and we are making the floor nice and soft for some good old archival employee bonding time.”

“Is he always like this?” she asked Jon.

“Unfortunately, yes, he is.”

“Hey! You guys love me and you _know_ it,” he pouted. With a muffled thud, he sat down on the floor. Tim sighed and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “You’re welcome to join me, you know.”

Sasha immediately took a seat next to him. “You are hogging the blanket,” she noted.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” Tim wrapped an arm around her.

“You two make me sick,” Melanie said, stacking pillows against the wall and sitting down.

Martin tentatively sat opposite Tim, leaving only one spot large enough for Jon, which was-

“Right in between Martin and me!”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I don’t see why we have to be so _squished_ together.”

“Bonding exercise, remember?” Sasha scooted down, letting her head fall into Tim’s lap. Immediately his hand went to her hair, gently running his fingers through it.

“Again, you two are _disgusting_.” Melanie’s short frame barely took up a corner of the blanket. Still, she scooted over. “Martin, come on, man, we won’t bite you.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked skeptically but complying anyway.

Jon surveyed the dim scene through squinted eyes. He had nothing to lose by joining them ( _other than your dignity_ , his brain helpfully noted) and everything to gain. Martin looked so hopeful, at least from what he could see, a fact that derailed his thought process entirely. Giving in, he sat, cross-legged, between Tim and Martin.

Thunder rumbled regularly, shaking into his bones. The warm light of the lamp, the blankets and pillows surrounding them, _Martin Martin Martin Mart-_

Jon was very comfortable, to say the least.

“Do you guys want to play those party games from year seven, truth or dare/never have I ever/kiss-mary-kill or something?” Tim asked, still carding through Sasha’s hair.

“I’m down,” she said.

“Melanie?”

She adjusted her pillow pile. “Nah, I’m good, did enough stupid things then, don’t need to now.” 

Tim groaned. “Martin, Jon, do you two want to join?”

Martin voiced his dissent. Jon’s mind raced ahead to a future where the uncomfortable truth about his, er, _feelings_ was made public. “I’m going to pass on that.”

“You guys are no fun,” Tim pouted.

Martin leaned back on his hands. “Just seems a little forced, you know? I’m good to just be here with you guys, just talking and stuff.”

Melanie mimed throwing up. “If I hear anything else mushy I am going to commit murder to bring the atmosphere back to proper levels of sanity.”

Jon chuckled. “As long as you get Elias, I will cover for you.”

Sasha piped up, “I’ll hide the body!”

“I’ll be the getaway driver,” Tim added. They all looked at Martin expectantly.

“Uhh, I can get us out of the country? I’ve got family in Poland, we could hide out there until things cool down,” he said slowly.

Melanie rubbed her hands together. “Excellent.”

“Wait, Martin, you’re from Poland?” Tim asked eagerly.

“My mum is.”

He grinned. “Can you speak Polish?”

Martin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Bits and pieces, yeah.”

“Say something!” Sasha said.

“Fine… _Możliwe że żywię ogromną sympatią naszego szefa i modlę się żeby nie znał polskiego_.”

“What did you say?” Jon asked.

He sighed, almost in relief. “I said thunderstorms are very beautiful to watch and listen to.”

“Seemed a little longer than that…”

“Polish is weird, Melanie.”

The conversation lapsed into pleasant silence, the storm showing no sign of abating. Martin gradually unfolded, his thigh brushing Jon’s knee (a fact he could not ignore for longer than five seconds). They talked about everything and nothing at all, telling Melanie stories of the Archives.

“…and that’s how I managed to get into the Prime Minister’s personal records with nothing more than my wits and pretty face.”

“Tim, your sense of confidence never ceases to amaze me,” Melanie said. She turned to face Jon. “You know, when compared with these idiots, you’re sorta okay, Sims.”

He balked. “Was that- your idea of a compliment?”

“Sometimes I don’t throw up in my mouth when I see you,” she offered, with the air of presenting a great honor.

The room exploded into laughter, Jon joining in. “Thank you very much, Melanie, you are very kind, I can’t imagine-“

_If there's somethin' strange in your neighborhood  
Who ya gonna call (ghostbusters)  
If it's somethin' weird and it don’t look good  
Who ya gonna call (ghostbusters)_

His phone rang, vibrating under his leg. He swiped it open.

“Hey, Georgie.”

At this, Melanie’s face broke into a wide grin. Jon saw this out of the corner of his eye and decided to let it terrify him.

“Put it on speaker,” she commanded before anybody could say anything. Fearing for his life, he complied.

Immediately Georgie’s voice echoed out of the phone in his hand. “Hey, Jon, just wanted to make sure you’re okay. That storm is pretty wicked and I know you’re at work but it doesn’t show any signs of abating.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m still at the Institute, but the power is out.”

“Do you need me to come to pick you up or something?”

“Thank you, but I think I’m good.”

Melanie listened to this exchange, her eyes bright. “Hi, babe!” she piped in.

Georgie gasped. “Wait- Melanie? Is that you? What- how? What?”

Jon looked from her to the phone, putting two and two together. “Hang on,” he said slowly, “Your girlfriend. Melanie. Is Melanie King of Ghost Hunt UK. The Melanie King currently working at the Magnus Institute.”

She clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Jon, something actually got through your thick head. Yes, Georgie is my girlfriend.”

“I didn’t know you worked with Jon!” Georgie exclaimed. “What a coincidence.”

Tim smiled wickedly, leaning forward towards the phone. “Your girlfriend is flirting with Jon,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Jonathan Sims, I love you, but Melanie is _my girlfriend._ Hands off or you won’t have hands any longer.”

The call disconnected.

They all looked at each other, questions buzzing through Jon’s head. Melanie spoke first. “ _Flirting with Jon_?” she asked incredulously. “I literally just told him he’s sorta okay. Is that how low the bar is set? No, don’t answer that,” she said as Sasha started to speak up. “I don’t want to know. _I’m a lesbian._ Am I not useless enough for you? What do I need to do? Wear more flannel? Blast Girl in Red?”

“To be fair,” Martin said, “You did kill a spider yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes. “That is so stereotypical. I expected better of you, Martin.”

He sighed, laughing a little. “Okay, that’s reasonable.”

“Also we _both_ kill the bugs. She’s literally fearless and I have a lot of anger, so it just works out,” she explained. “Now, your turn.” Melanie leaned across a contentedly quiet Martin to punch him on the shoulder. “How do you know Georgie? How did the universe align so you two met?”

“Actually,” he said slowly, savoring his next words, “We used to date.”

Martin’s elbows gave out and he slipped, Melanie landing on top of him in a dogpile of shock. Sasha closed her eyes, smiling.

“You used to _what?_ ”

Jon stretched his legs out. “Yes, I know it’s hard to believe, but we were together during uni.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” she waved him aside, sitting up gingerly. “It’s that I was so sure you were gay, like, _only into men_.”

“How in the world did you reason that one out?”

She and Sasha answered at the same time, “Your vibes.”

“Well, jokes on you, I’m bi.” He said this with an air of finality as if he had won every argument in existence by those two simple words, while in reality, he had only won 90% of them.

Tim raised a hand for a high five. “Bi buddies!” he cheered.

Martin spoke up. “Really, Melanie, how did you know I was- you know, gay? I’m not officially in the closet, but I’m not officially _out_ either.”

In unison, Tim, Melanie, and Sasha said, “We just knew.” Martin threw his hands up in defeat, grinning.

“I didn’t,” Jon said defensively.

“Well, coming from a man who didn’t realize his ex-girlfriend’s new partner was his coworker, that is not the least bit surprising,” Sasha teased.

He stole a pillow from Melanie and slipped it behind his head, laying down. “I suppose you’re right,” he grumbled. “But yeah, Georgie and I dated a while back. It didn’t end well for us. I hadn’t spoken to her for a while, but we recently re-connected.”

“So did we,” Melanie said with a smirk.

“Now who’s disgusting?” Tim asked.

“Oh, buzz off, at least I’m not mooning about like the lot of you helpless fools.” She sighed, settling into her nest of fluff. “And don’t bother arguing,” she warned, “The vibes have told me all I need to know.”

She winked at Martin.

And together they hunkered down, the storm raging outside, talking until the words grew gummy and hoarse in their mouths, the lamp flickering every so often. Slowly, one by one, they drifted off to sleep, Sasha using Tim as a pillow, Tim curled around her protectively. Melanie slept sitting upright, a position she assured the rest of them was “quite comfortable, thank you.”

Martin’s face looked so peaceful in sleep, one arm behind his head. His warmth drew Jon like a beacon, and the last thing he thought before succumbing to unconsciousness was _he is very soft, the perfect hug shape._ The comfort of being safe in a storm, surrounded by friends, and the small action of leaning into Martin next to him lulled Jon to restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am Soft for these people can't you tell
> 
> georgie definitely forced jon to set the ghostbusters theme song as her ringtone and no i don't take constructive criticism
> 
> UPDATE  
> I am so sorry completely spaced on this but Martin does not in fact talk abt storms in polish he says...  
> I may or may not have a huge crush on our boss and I'm praying he doesn't know polish


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after is always awkward, isn't it? Daisy and Basira join the Archives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! here is the chapter, i hope y'all enjoy! i think at this point we are maybe 40% done with what i have planned for this fic. originally i didn't have a plot but now i do, so i also have a plan. a big plan. a big bad plan. a plan of pain.   
> let me know what you think!  
> xxx

Slowly, ever so slowly, reality began to trickle into Jon’s mind like a leaky boat. First, an awareness that he had a physical, corporeal body, which is an unpleasant realization in most situations, but as his body was currently being dwarfed by a much larger, much warmer and softer body, this fact was not as startling as it should have been. Then he realized what was happening outside his comfortable bubble, or rather _inside_ it.

“Oh-no, what?” Jon shot up straight, breaking out of Martin’s gentle hold. He rubbed his eyes blearily, the dimly lit room coming into focus. On his other side, Tim and Sasha were leaning into each other sleepily, watching him wake up with dopey grins on their faces. Melanie lay sprawled at their feet, a steaming mug of coffee near her elbow. Martin, _beautiful, perfect, oh-so-soft Martin_ , still curled around Jon’s form, one arm draped across his waist.

“Good morning!” Tim said brightly, much too cheerful. “Did you sleep well? It looks like _somebody_ enjoyed themselves…” He winked.

Sasha laughed as Jon looked from them to Martin, still sleeping next to him, and back again.

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

Melanie groaned. “Ugh, do we need to spell it out for you? You are really the most emotionally repressed person I have ever met in my entire life, and that is saying something.”

Jon blinked at her, not quite prepared for the truth but not ready for defeat.

“Big storm outside go boom, no more power. You and Martin-“ She pointed to them rather obviously. “Fell asleep-“ She mimed snoring, her face pillowed against her hand. “And cuddled.” Melanie wrapped her arms around herself and smiled dopily.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Tim yawned.

She wiped the grin off her face and returned to staring at the ceiling pensively. “It’s a miracle you all have managed to survive this long without therapists.”

“A therapist? In this economy? I think _not_ ,” Sasha snorted.

Jon groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face. “This is a disaster, I have no idea how you managed to talk me into this,” he shot at Tim, “Should never have…stupid idea…professionalism…” he trailed off, muttering angrily.

But still, for all his worries, Jon was acutely aware of how nice he and Martin fit together, bodies molding into just the right shape. Well, if he ignored the blatant ethics and harassment guidelines.

“What are you bloody talking about?” Melanie asked him incredulously. “You obviously like him _very much_ , anyone can tell. You just cuddled for-“ She looked to Sasha for confirmation.

“Fourteen hours, give or take a half-hour.”

“What she said. This was your opportunity, mate! Tell him how you feel!” she encouraged.

Jon looked at Martin, terrified. Scared he might have overheard the exclamation, but mostly terrified at the mortifying ordeal of being known. “No,” he said decidedly, “It would be way too out of line. There isn’t the _slightest_ chance he would reciprocate, it would be pointless,” he finished with a sigh.

The rest of the room looked at each other, a silent question of _should-you-tell-him-or-should-I?_ that nobody volunteered for.

In the end, Jon managed to extricate himself from Martin’s grasp, feeling a pang somewhere in a very selfish part of him as he did so. _It’s for the best, this wouldn’t work out anyways,_ he thought over and over, trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

“It’s almost nine, should we wake him up or…?” Tim asked, prodding Martin with his foot.

Jon looked at him in shock. “Almost nine? That means, we- _I_ slept for almost…”

Sasha grinned at him, running her hands through her hair in an attempt to tame the mess of tangles. “Fourteen hours, try to keep up, we’ve already been over this.”

“Yes, thank you. I haven’t slept that long for _years_.”

“We could tell,” Melanie said, “Want to know how?” He nodded, leaning against the wall opposite her. “You are exhausted constantly and reach the point of deliriousness _at least_ once a fortnight, you constantly look dead on your feet, so it came as no surprise that when you actually allowed your tiny body the chance to recharge, you slept for over half a day.”

“I- do not- I sleep-“ he spluttered.

“Sure you do.” Tim stifled a yawn with his hand.

Jon was saved the horror of explaining his sleep schedule, if you can call it that, by Martin stirring.

“Where- where am I?” He stretched, limbs lengthening like a cat's.

“Congratulations! You spent the night in a haunted house, proceed to the front desk to receive your reward,” Melanie said.

“Haunted house? But I thought…” Martin trailed off, muttering something that included the word _Jon_.

Both men blushed, avoiding eye contact.

“You are all disasters,” Sasha announced, springing to her feet. “As much as I would love to see you sort out your issues, I have a fresh pair of clothes and a shower calling my name. I’ll see you lot tomorrow!” With a cheery wave, she walked out of the room and up the hallway. Jon heard the telltale _ding_ of the elevator, her footsteps echoing and then vanishing.

“I’m with Sasha on this one,” Tim also stood, smiling at them with the air of a proud mama bird whose hatchlings had just begun to test out their wings. “Don’t expect me back in today, no point, is there?” He made his way towards the door.

“Actually-“ Jon began, but Tim cut across him.

“ _Don’t answer that, I am not going to listen._ La-la-la-la-la-la, I’m going home, la-la-la-la, I’ll see you tomorrow, la-la-la-la…” Both he and his beautiful song left, traveling away from them.

Which left a befuddled Martin, awkward Jon, and an exasperated Melanie sitting on the floor, wrapped in blankets.

Jon inched towards the door. “Well, it seems the general consensus is we all take the day off, and I am inclined to agree.”

Melanie sighed. “Fine, fine, I should have expected this…”

“Ex-expected what?” Martin yawned.

She smirked cryptically, suddenly moving with astounding speed. “Noting, nothing!” she called, leaving quickly.

Martin looked at Jon quizzically. “What’s got their trousers in a twist?”

“No idea,” he said, like a liar.

Martin sat up slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Um, about last night…”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, totally out of line-“ Jon rushed to reassure him, hating himself as he did so.

Martin looked slightly crestfallen. “Oh! Okay, that sounds good.”

It did _not_ sound good, but Jon nodded anyways. “Well, I’d best get home, I’ve got- important stuff to do.”

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, you had best get on that, then. See you tomorrow?” He smiled, unaware (or was he?) of how that smile made his stomach swirl in a rainbow tornado of gay panic.

“Yes, er- you too.” And with that embarrassing remark, Jon shot out the Archives like a bar of soap in wet hands.

He pulled out his phone once he reached the safety of the still-damp outdoors, deciding to text Georgie.

_Good morning, Georgie._

_good morning! what’s up?_

_Oh, nothing. Why?_

_well, you normally have some issue wreaking havoc in your life so i just assumed you needed me to play therapist again or hide a body_

_Thanks? I think?_

_definitely not a compliment but You Are Welcome Anyway!_

_so nothing’s wrong?_

_you didn’t make a move on MY girl?_

_I would never._

_you better not_

_she would probably kill you before i would so i’m not really worried_

_That is very reassuring to hear._

_oh i know!_

_how did hiding out in the office go?_

_About as well as you can imagine._

_am i supposed to be realistic or think wishfully?_

_Realistic._

_so you DIDN’T confess your love to martin in a dramatic fashion, preferably with flowers and fire_

_No. I did not. Thankfully. I came close, actually._

_But why fire?_

_everybody loves a little arson every now and then_

_WAIT_

_WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAME CLOSE_

_JON THIS IS PROGRESS_

_It is really not._

_am i going to have to drag it out of you? what happened?_

_Well, we kind of…all slept on the floor. Together._

_:D_

_and?_

_I may have been the little spoon._

_about time_

_Unintentionally._

_of course. of course it was. none other than jon sims would unintentionally spoon with their office crush, who is a man of ambiguous sexuality_

_Hey, I’m not that bad._

_yeah you’re that bad_

_Maybe I am._

_But it turns out Martin is gay, so that’s good I guess?_

_definitely good! so how was cuddling with him?_

_I am not comfortable discussing this. But I did apologize to him, made it clear I wasn’t going to try anything, just to forget it had happened._

_i cannot believe this_

_you done messed up sims_

_I made the right call! I need to uphold my professional standards, this is a workplace environment._

_jooooon_

_you are a fool_

_you are not a clown_

_you are the entire circus_

_Thanks, I really appreciate it. What should I have said instead?_

_hmm, idk, maybe I HAVE A HUGE CRUSH ON YOU BUT I’M TOO MUCH OF AN IDIOT TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT????_

_Realistically, I mean._

_oh, i can’t tell you that_

_Why ever not?_

_you need to figure that out on your own_

_And why is that?_

_;)_

_Georgie…_

_Please._

_;)_

_I need to fix this, apparently. But how?_

_;)_

Jon sighed, turning his phone off. He was nearly at his flat anyway, and it was clear Georgie wasn’t going to help any further. _Typical_.

He spent the better part of the day trying to rid himself of the simple sensation of being held whilst he slept, something so pleasant it should have been sinful. It probably was, but did he care? No, at least not in that sense.

Jon couldn’t reason with himself as to why he was acting the way he was. It was the perfect opportunity to, er, _confess_ , as Georgie would have suggested, but he couldn’t bring himself to. An innate fear had seized him, the possibility of losing something he never had in the first place a cold and stark reality.

No, this was the best option. Cut it off before he had the chance to spin it into something completely ridiculous, a huge misunderstanding that would shatter their tentative friendship.

_Friendship._ Oh, how he detested that word. It burned and choked and twisted around him, muttering lies of a future he wanted and the truth of a life he was born to have. _Friendship…_

~~~

The next day was, understandably, awkward. Jon tried to do his work peacefully, he really did, but every time he settled down to record, he was interrupted. Sasha, popping in with a hopeful look on her face, the expression melting away mysteriously after a glance around his office. Tim barging in with some fanciful notion about _love_ and _chivalry_. Melanie stalking up to his desk and punching him on the shoulder, hard, before stomping away, muttering about _lovesick idiots who can’t even do anything about their feelings_.

Jon thought it was all quite rude. Strangely enough, he didn’t catch sight of Martin. He certainly wasn’t one of the repeated unannounced visitors, come to tell him off not for something he did do, but for something he was refusing to.

“Jon,” Tim leaned up against the desk, staring at him while he tried to work, “You need to _at least_ talk to Martin. He feels like he did something wrong.”

His stomach plummeted. “We did talk!”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure you had a productive conversation about your feelings, didn’t you?” He raised an eyebrow accusingly.

Jon withered under his stare. “No…not quite,” he muttered.

“Then what-“ He stood, pulling him up by the elbow, “are you waiting for?” With that dignified action, Jon was shoved unceremoniously out the door.

“What do you want me to do, Tim?” he asked angrily, “This is a bad idea!”

“Of course it is, it’s my idea! That’s the _whole point_.”

“Very reassuring, Tim, very reassuring.”

“Thank you! I try!”

Jon wandered up the hall, unintentionally scanning every room and doorway for Martin. He ended up in the forlornly empty break room. About to make a cup of tea, already resigned to the fact it was going to be sub-standard, when who should bump into him but-

“Ah, Martin, there you are. I was, er- looking for… you…” Jon trailed off, the words trapped in his throat under the gaze of the man he both feared yet longed to know.

“You were?” he asked in surprise, carefully picking up the teabag Jon had dropped. “What for?”

He took the teabag from Martin, their fingertips brushing. “No reason, no reason at all.”

Martin looked at him, unconvinced. “Oh, okay then. Do you want me to do that?” He gestured toward the teapot.

He seized on the new thread, desperate to escape the pit of broken sentences he had dug himself into. “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be lovely.”

With an exaggerated, awkward frigidity, the two made difficult small talk while the kettle boiled. Jon couldn’t help but remember how small, how _safe_ he had felt in Martin’s arms. He tried to banish the traitorous thought, remind it of company guidelines, but it wouldn’t listen, repeating over and over like a dog chasing it’s tail until it was the only thing he could think about.

Luckily, Sasha sashayed through the door before Jon could make an utter fool of himself. “And how are we doing today?” She smiled warmly at both of them.

“Pretty good, just making some tea now, do you want some?” Martin brightened considerably when she entered, a fact that did not escape Jon’s notice.

“Yes please, thank you.” She spun around and sat in one of the hard, company-issued chairs. “Jon? How’s your back? I know sleeping on the floor must have been uncomfortable…” Sasha widened her eyes in mock innocence.

“Oh, buzz off,” he muttered, “I slept fine. Great, even. Haven’t slept that well since…well, it’s been a while.”

Martin turned around quickly and busied himself with the kettle, effectively hiding his face and the expression Jon’s words had caused to appear. Sasha looked from one to the other, almost disappointed, but before Tim marched into the room, two women trailing behind him.

“Oh, what’s this, Tim, your harem?” Sasha asked. “Didn’t know you were into the _I-will-knock-you-out_ type.”

The taller of the two, a blonde woman wearing a tank top showing off her heavily muscled, scarred arms, glared at all of them in turn as she entered. The woman beside her wore a hijab and a smile like a loaded gun.

Tim laughed. “They aren’t my concubines, Sash, Jonny here still has my heart.” He swooned dramatically, pretending to faint in front of Jon.

“What’s going on, then?” Martin asked.

Melanie slunk into the room behind them, eager to see what was happening.

“Bad capitalist upstairs gave them the no-no papers,” he said.

Jon spluttered. “I’m sorry- what?”

“You heard him,” Sasha said brightly, “Bad capitalist upstairs gave them the no-no papers!”

Melanie nodded in understanding, leaving Martin and Jon still mystified. The smaller woman gave a minute wave. “I’m Basira Hussain and yes, the bad man upstairs gave us the no-no papers, if that’s what you’re calling the job contract these days.”

“Alice Tonner, but you can call me Daisy.” They shook hands all around, most looking tentative to touch Daisy lest she rip off their arms. After introductions were made, Tim checked his watch.

“I was going to clock out in a few minutes here, almost time for the Institute to close for the day. What do you say we go for drinks tonight? I’m nowhere near drunk enough to deal with this situation and you two.”

Daisy growled low in her throat, and he hurried to explain. “Not you guys,” he pointed to Jon and Martin, standing a few feet apart, “I’m talking about _those_ idiots over there.”

Jon jumped at the mention of his name and secret. Martin pretended not to have heard it.

“Ah, I see,” Basira said (and she probably did). “Drinks sound good. I’ll let you know, Daisy here probably won’t get drunk if that’s what you’re hoping.”

Sasha grinned at her. “You haven’t been out drinking with us.”

“I’ve only been drunk once. Ever.” Daisy crossed her arms as if daring somebody to challenge this fact. Nobody was stupid enough to. “Drunk in 2006, that was a night, wasn’t it?”

Basira nodded.

“Well, I’ll meet you all at the pub across the street at, say, eight o’clock? Jon, you are coming if I have to drag you out of your apartment in chains.”

He glared at Tim, who smiled sweetly. “Fine, I’ll be there…”

Martin looked at his shoes, trying to hide the eagerness on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry the intro's for daisy and basira were pretty abrupt, it's all part of the plan!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes for drinks. Martin leaves and does not come back. Jon is worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight here is another chapter! i hope y'all like it! i might not be able to post anything for a little while or reply to comments, currently mooching off my phone's data bc the internet QUIT on me. can you believe it? the NERVE!! so just know i am ALIVE most likely and MISSING YOU GUYS!!  
> let me know what you think!  
> xxx

Several hours later, Jon was regretting having skipped gym class in primary school. If he had a bit more strength, perhaps he would have been able to hold off Tim. Instead, he was dragging his feet on the way to the pub.

_Another chance to make a fool of myself, another chance to let too much slip, another chance to let his guard down too much and mess up everything he had tentatively built/destroyed/and was in the process of rebuilding with Martin._

He tried to convince himself it was no big deal, just an after-hours work event. Jon force-fed himself the lie that it was nothing more than that, choking on the poison as he stared into his open closet, deciding on what to wear _. Something to make a good impression on the new employees…and definitely not anything he thought would impress Martin…that would be silly if it were true._

Which it definitely wasn’t.

Not one shred of truth there.

But what is a lie but a convenient mask? The truth, nothing more than a sledgehammer?

Jon pulled an olive green button-up off its hanger, holding it against his chest in the mirror. It matched his eyes, a fact that did _not_ factor into the equation whatsoever.

He wondered if this amount of self-deception was healthy.

He decided probably not, but he also decided it was a problem for later. Jon held the folds of a flowing black skirt against his hips, deciding. With one hand, he pulled out his phone, deciding to consult the authorities.

_Georgie, I need your advice._

_you have come to the right place! what’s up?_

_Tonight the Archives staff is going out for drinks._

_okay_

_and?_

_I have a few issues that need sorting, but first, does this look good?_

_img.015_green_and_black_??skirt??_

_ohhh i love the skirt jon, you look stunning!_

_So I should wear it._

_of course, you would be an idiot not to!_

_According to you, I am an idiot._

_you know i do recall that, but the point is i’m not an idiot and i’m telling you to wear it_

_Yes ma’am._

_Issue number two- does drunk-Jon talk, er, more freely than sober-Jon?_

_uh yeah_

_1000%_

_you also are very clingy and emotional_

_Great._

_ahahaha_

_you are going to have to show your soft side SOMETIME_

_I suppose. Let’s just pray I don’t destroy my reputation tonight._

_your reputation? for being a sleep-deprived machine that runs on caffeine and spite?_

_No, for being professional._

_good luck with that_

_Gee, thanks, what ever would I do without you?_

_idk_

_actually go to therapy?_

_That was sarcasm._

_i know, me too_

_I’m going to head out now, talk later?_

_keep me updated!_

_i will expect a four-page essay in MLA formatting on the events of the night on my figurative desk by Sunday_

_Of course._

Jon shrugged into a light denim jacket to ward off the chill, lacing up his Doc Martens. With a final, almost regretful glance in the mirror, he began to head to the pub.

At precisely 7:00 he pushed open the grimy door, shouldering his way inside. Early as the night was, the room was already crowded and noisy. Suddenly self-conscious, he brushed his sweaty hands down his skirt. He spotted Tim and Sasha sitting at a booth in the far corner, Melanie sliding into it opposite of Sasha. They waved him over, Tim beaming.

“Look at you! You made it without me having to drag you out of your apartment?” His voice was cheery, the brightness almost painful. Jon sat down stiffly, keeping a professional distance between him and Melanie.

Sasha leaned across the table, her face open and happy. “I love your skirt, Jon, where did you get it?”

He could detect no ulterior motive, no hidden joke made at his expense. “Er, actually my ex got it for me a few years ago, she found it a thrift store I think?”

“Georgie? Shopping for clothes?” Melanie seemed skeptical. “Doesn’t seem like her.”

He shrugged. “I was…uncomfortable in most of what I owned, she helped me out. Kind of an emergency situation. I can’t see her shopping much on her own either.”

She nodded. “Look!” Melanie stuck her feet out from under the table, knocking into Jon’s feet. “Shoe twins!”

He looked, and indeed they were. “They’re comfortable.”

“Oh, definitely. You know, I had a pair a few years ago that…” Melanie rambled off, the rest only half-listening, waiting for Daisy, Basira, and Martin to show up.

A few minutes later, or what seemed like half a century to Jon, they walked in the door. Daisy and Basira wore nondescript clothes, almost blending into the crowd if it weren’t for Daisy’s height and Basira’s fierce expression, looking as if she were marching into battle rather than a pub. Martin, well…

Jon couldn’t exactly figure out why his brain had suddenly stopped working, a 404 ERROR message bouncing around the empty screen in his mind. Martin spotted them, smiled, then led the way over to their booth, fidgeting with the cuffs of his red jumper.

_He must be very warm in here_ / entered the blank screensaver, quickly chased by the thought / _he must be very soft._

Jon drew his gaze away, suddenly aware his mouth was open slightly.

“Budge up, you lot.” Daisy and Basira sat next to each other on the edge of Tim and Sasha’s bench, leaving Martin to awkwardly slide in next to Jon. A few inches distance between them, a space that seemed much so much closer than it should.

“Well, how is everyone doing?” Martin splayed his hands on the greasy countertop, more at ease than Jon had seen him.

“In general, or like today?”

“Is there a difference, Tim?”

He huffed. “Yes, there is. Because in general, we work at a horrible Institution that puts it’s researchers in danger on a regular basis, both in the field and in business meetings. The employee task force has doubled in the past week, something that is mildly concerning.” Tim smiled as if he hadn’t just outlined the basic issues plaguing all of the people seated in the corner booth of the pub. “But today? Today is swell!”

“You all seem to really hate your jobs with the Institute, don’t you?” Daisy scanned each of their faces, cataloging them as they all nodded. “Why don’t you quit?”

Jon looked at Sasha awkwardly. “Well,” he said, “It’s a little strange. I’m not exactly sure _why_ I still work there, I just can’t…bring myself to quit.”

“There is something off about the Archives,” Martin said, folding his hands on the tabletop, “But I want to know what it is, you know?”

“I needed the job,” Melanie explained. “Why did you two join? I hear working with the police is a pretty cushy job.”

“Bored,” Daisy said simply.

Basira rolled her eyes. “And I’m her partner, can’t let her walk blindly into what is sounding like a death trap.”

“Nope!” Tim said brightly. “Nobody has died yet!”

“That we know of…” Melanie muttered. “You know, come to think of it, it might be good to have two cops-“

“ _Ex_ \- cops,” Daisy corrected her.

“Right, sorry, _ex-cops_ on the staff.” Melanie returned Daisy’s menacing glare with one of her own.

Jon listened to the conversation, not saying anything. He doubted his ability to form coherent sentences with Martin sitting Right There, but his brain snagged on _I’m her partner_ and refused to let it be. He sighed. “Melanie, what are the vibes telling you about these two?” he asked, ignoring Basira’s confused look.

She brightened at the question, considering the women sitting opposite her. “Hmm, let’s see, I’ll have to ask…” Melanie winked, Sasha giggling slightly. “The verdict is in- no need to fear, the no-straights allowed rule is in no danger of being broken here.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Tim laughed heartily. “That is good to hear. But first, before we get into the deep emotional stuff, drinks? I can run up to the bar and grab them if you like.”

They all accepted his offer, each person giving him their request. 

“So, what’s with the whole _vibes_ thing?” Basira asked.

“Melanie here used to run Ghost Hunt UK, and after several run-ins with the paranormal, she has the ability to sense the Vibes of a room with little to no effort,” Sasha explained only partly in jest.

“Ghost Hunt UK?” She looked at Melanie appraisingly. “I liked that show. Took a weird turn in season three, but still good.”

“Glad to hear you’re a fan.”

Moments later, Tim returned, his hands full. Glass clinked as he set down several bottles and glasses. “Beer for Martin and Melanie, nice red wine for Sasha and I, orange juice for Basira, a dry martini with extra olives for Daisy, and a classic cocktail for Jon.”

They all took their drinks with murmured thanks.

“So, Martin, what’s your story?” Daisy asked, her eyes keen.

He choked slightly. Coughing and spluttering, he said, “Oh, nothing special really. Went to school, worked for a bit up north where my mum used to live, ended up in London outside the Institute and decided, you know, what the heck? Next thing I knew I was accidentally letting dogs into the Archives, as you do.”

“Um no? You don’t?” Melanie tipped her bottle back, swallowing quickly. “That’s not normal.”

Martin laughed slightly. “Well, funny story, it’s my first day at work and I stop to pet this adorable spaniel before heading in. One thing led to another and it got off the leash, escaping into the open doors of the Institute. I ran after it, the owner laughing, and accidentally knocked into Jon just inside the door. Bad first impression, I must add.”

They all chuckled, Jon smiling indulgently. He remembered that day, not with nostalgia or fondness, but with the clarity that change brings. Martin, stuttering and awkward, Jon, surprised by the appearance of an unknown person.

Martin took a drink. “Your turn,” he said, “What led you to this pit of fire and brimstone and ghosts?”

Basira shrugged. “We were partners in the force, worked on a lot of weird cases together. One day we realized that the police was not going to be the best place to work in the long run, ended up at your Institute.”

Tim scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Yeah, sounds about right. My condolences.”

“Hey,” Melanie interjected, “It’s not _that_ bad. You lot are pretty decent, it’s Elias that really gets on my nerves. Daisy, Basira, you don’t answer to the law anymore?”

“Yeah, not anymore. At least not like that. Why?” Daisy raised her eyebrows suspiciously.

Melanie smiled sweetly. “Just want to make sure I don’t have to clarify if I’m joking when I talk about murdering Elias.”

Basira snorted. “Are you joking?”

“Most of the time?” She paused, pretending to think. “Nope. Not joking. Murder is _never_ a joke, violence is never the answer,” she said sarcastically.

They all laughed again, glass clinking against wood.

“So about that no-straights allowed rule…”

~~~

An hour and a half and a lot more alcohol later, Martin stood up from the table, his gaze steady. “I need to get some air,” he said, slightly slurred.

Jon looked up at him, slightly forlorn. “Okay, you aren’t leaving, are you?” he asked sincerely.

Martin blushed. “No, I’ll be back. Just need to breathe.” Jon nodded, scooting closer to Melanie.

The world around him buzzed with warmth and color, a smile easily playing across his face. _What was he worried about? This was fine, more than fine, he was talking to Martin and making friends and-_

“Jon? You okay there?” Sasha patted him clumsily on the arm. “Y’look a little funny…”

“That’s how he normally looks, Sash, with that adorable face of his.” Tim’s cheeks were red, his eyes a little bit spacey. Basira and Melanie were deep in conversation about Ghost Hunt UK, empty glasses at their elbows. Only Daisy seemed to be unaffected, staring around the pub, arms crossed.

“Thanks,” Jon muttered, already getting slightly antsy. _When did Martin say he would be back?_

A few minutes later, he could wait no longer. “Ima go get air too.”

“Yes, go get your man!” Sasha cheered drunkenly. Jon did not comment.

Outside, the night was refreshing. The stars blinked overhead, mostly obscured by the smog of the huge city. He didn’t see Martin anywhere outside the pub, not sitting on the bench, not standing against the building. Off to his right was an alley, and in his drunken state, Jon decided that was where Martin was.

He ambled over to it, still feeling pleasantly warm. “Mahtin? Where are you?” he called, his tongue thick in his mouth.

Suddenly he froze, all warmth gone. On the wall, scrawled in what seemed to be still-wet blood, were the words-

“ _I am me, but so are you. Don’t forget who I was, lest they see the one who mirrors,_ ” he read aloud, stepping closer to inspect the wall.

It was definitely blood. Something was wrong.

More cautious now, he took a tentative step into the alley. Shadows obscured the far end of it, but something moved. “Martin?” he asked again, tentative now. “Is that- is that you?”

The darkness seemed to pull itself into the shape of a man, or maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him. Whoever it was did not reply.

Thinking of nothing but Martin Martin Martin MartinMartinMartinMartin Jon continued to advance, ignoring every other thought in his addled mind. The shape walked toward him, coming closer to the light.

The sleeve of a red jumper stretched out to him, beckoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let jon wear skirts! let jon wear skirts! let jon wear skirts!  
> i apologize for my lack of knowledge regarding alcohol, i have never been to a pub or anything so i kinda....made it up....  
> what was your favorite part?
> 
> EDIT  
> I apologize for my lack of cultural knowledge and if I offended anybody, it was unintentional! It has come to my attention that Basira has religious restrictions that do not allow her to drink alcohol. I changed that, thank you anonymous commenter! she gets orange juice instead bc orange juice is the best.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange encounter in an alleyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so my internet is back and i am very happy bc it gave me the time to plot out the rest of the fic. i've got about ten chapters left, buckle up folks here comes the ANGST  
> love you guys so much!! let me know what you think, i literally could not hold this back any longer so y'all get it a few hours early  
> xxx

Jon froze, the sleeve of a very familiar jumper stretched over an unfamiliar hand. This hand was rough and thin, bones poking out at awkward angles. “Martin? Is that you? Are you okay?” He swallowed, his throat dry.

_Something’s wrong something’s wrong something’s-_

His breath hitched in his throat when he spotted blood dotting the palm stretching out of the shadows. It ran a red river over the lined fingers, spreading into the crevices and staining the faint hairs.

“Hi, Jon, everything is great, why do you ask?” 

The neon light that barely reached the alley highlighted a face Jon had never seen before. Cruel eyes and a sharp mouth, smiling through tombstone teeth. Chapped lips moved as it spoke, not lining up with the words like reality wasn’t in touch with the plane they were both occupying. Slowly it stepped out of the darkness, still towering over his small frame, but no longer a comforting beacon. Now the height was menacing, a weapon to be used in the dark of night and mind. This person that was not Martin stepped closer, their features distorted as if through wax.

Jon’s throat twisted into nothingness, a choked sound escaping his mouth. 

“Let’s go back inside, shall we? I’ll buy you a drink and you can tell me all about your day.” Still they came closer, the jumper stained darker in places by blood.

His heart dropped, plummeted into a place he had never been before, not even when his mother had collapsed on the floor, not even when he opened that door to see Mr. Spider sitting fat and happy, not even when his gran had turned her face away from him when he desperately tried to explain the workings of his mind. His heart scraped against metal walls on the way down, bumping and bruising.

“You aren’t-“ he began uncertainly, “You aren’t Martin.”

They smiled. “Of course I am. Who else would I be?”

“I do not know you,” Jon said, his voice rough. “ _I do not know you_.”

They laughed; or made a sound that should be laughter but instead was a corkscrew twisting into flesh, ripping and tearing. “It’s me, Jon, it’s Martin. I know you. You work too hard, no matter what we tell you. You like my tea, don’t you? You like me, don’t you?” This last question was forced out through lips that didn’t move, but the sound was clear.

Jon’s mind spun with the confusion and alcohol. Yes, he liked Martin. Very much. He might love Martin, a budding flower of affection growing and growing.But this was not Martin. They were not Martin. They would never be Martin, no matter how many lies they told, no matter how many half-baked truths and inconvenient facts they screamed into the night, _he did not know them._

“I do not know you,” he repeated again, their advancement forcing him back back back back-

“Yes, you do.” The words were venomous, a poison that could taste sweeter but had rotted long ago. “ _You know me. Look harder._ ”

With nothing else to do, he obeyed. He stared into the face, the face he had never seen before, searching for something that had once been there. As he stared, breath rising and falling with increasing panic, it slowly shifted. The nose retreating, eyes softening, mouth curling up at the edges in a familiar grin-

“No!” he shouted, “I do not know you! I do not know you! I…”

Still being forced to walk away but refusing to tear his gaze off the face that was molding under his eyes, Jon hit the wall, brick scratching through the clothes he had picked out with such care.

“Look again, _you know me, Jon._ ”

His mind stuttered, unwilling to believe but his eyes seeing something impossible. “I…” Jon broke off, trying to speak through swollen lips, “I do not know you…” His voice was weak now, the force draining out of his body. He floundered, willing it back into his throat, but it flooded away leaving him drained and empty. “ _I do not know you_ ,” he whispered.

They glared at him, hatred sparking out of eyes Jon knew but did not want to. “Are you sure about that?”

Nothing occurred to him, no trick to get out of this situation. With the last shred of defiance his drunk mind possessed, he said for a final time, “I do not know you.”

Jon startled and turned his head, a second voice speaking from the entrance of the alley. “He said he doesn’t know you, so back off, creep.” Sasha stood there, bag in hand like a weapon.

The thing turned to her, purring. “Sasha, dear Sasha, do you mean to tell me you don’t recognize me either?”

She planted her feet solidly on the slick pavement, grounding herself in a way Jon mirrored quickly, breathing deep for a moment, basking in the slightly comforting knowledge that at least he wouldn’t die alone.

“I don’t,” she said, her voice coming closer to a feral growl than Jon had ever heard before.

“It’s me, Sasha, it’s Martin.

“And I’m the prime minister. I’m going to ask you one more time- _who are you_?” Her hands clutched her bag, not protectively but defensively.

They paused, looking a little lost for a moment. “I’m- I’m Martin.”

Sasha snorted derisively, somehow retaining all her mental capacities even while less-than sober and confronting an unknown threat. “Nope, try again.”

“I think I’m Martin.” They turned their face to the side, confusion flitting across their features. “I think…”

“I don’t give a hen’s egg for who you think you are. You are _not_ Martin. Who are you, really?”

From his point up against the wall, Jon could see something strange happening. The person who was not Martin seemed to be shifting, their edges softening like sand as the waves recede. Their eyes flickered between a rainbow of colors in the weak light, their exact face shape becoming hard to pin down, changing if you focused too closely.

Their voice was softer when they spoke again but no less dangerous. “I don’t know, I can’t remember who I am- who I was.” They began to fluctuate in their height, limbs lengthening and shrinking at the wrong times.

“I do not know you,” Jon said forcefully. “We do not know you.” With a sudden venom, a curse he didn’t remember, he spat at the thing, “You do not know you. There is not a single person who knows who you are, _you are nothing_.”

With a glance from him, Sasha caught on to what was happening. “I do not know you. You do not know you. You will never know you. Who are you?” With a sudden, decisive motion, she rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small mirror, the kind you use for makeup. She snapped it open and approached the unstable person in front of them, shoving the mirror in their face. “Do you see that person? I don’t know them. Do you?” 

“N-no, I don’t? Ah…” They sank to the ground, tucking their head into bloodstained hands. “Who is that?”

“That,” Jon said, “is nobody. You are nobody. _I do not know you_.”

They began to sway, rocking back and forth with sickening sounds. A whimper escaped their crooked mouth, their fingers crackling and popping. Jon and Sasha chanted together, “I do not know you. _I do not know you. I do not know you!_ ”

With a final, agonizing wail, the thing collapsed to the ground, their body folding in on itself. “I don’t know…” A string of incomprehensible mutters escaped their mouth, the individual words unclear but the doubts certain. Breathing heavily, Jon watched as the weight of their own existence- or rather, nonexistence, crushing the life out of them.

As Sasha continued to chant, Jon caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, ready to fight or flee, but it was just another slightly tipsy person. They walked past the alley, pausing for a moment and drinking in the sight of two drunks chanting a cryptic message.

“Well, alright then.” The man’s voice was a heavy American accent, slightly slurred. “I thought it was just California, but I guess you get them here too.”

The man wandered off without saying anything more, Jon glaring at them until they passed.

In a moment, all that was left was Martin’s bloodstained jumper, sleeves worn ragged, threads dangling limply onto the dirty cement.

Sasha took a deep, shuddering breath, steadying herself, before running over to Jon. She threw her arms around him, talking fast. “We were going to do a drinking game, Tim said it would be more fun with you two so I said I would come get you, but then I saw that _thing_ and I knew something was wrong- what was that? Where is Martin?”

Jon let his head fall forward onto her shoulder, enjoying for once the fact that he was so short. “I don’t know, Sasha, I don’t know what’s going on,” he whispered. “I saw the blood on the wall-“

“Wait, what?” she interrupted him. “What blood?”

He pointed shakily at the words ( _I am me, but so are you. Don’t forget who I was, lest they see the one who mirrors_ ) and she read them silently.

“Whatever that was, this is the kind of stuff that shows up in statements.”

He agreed. Breaking away from her loosening grasp, Jon walked slowly toward the back of the alley, hoping Martin would be there but dreading his presence all the same. If he was there, what condition would he be in?

“Where are you going?” Sasha followed him, once again holding her bag like a weapon. “What’s back there?” She didn’t sound scared, but all the same, something wasn’t right about this situation.

Jon didn’t answer, pulling out his phone and shining the light at the ground.

“Oh my-“ she gasped, drawing level with him.

“Yeah, I think we need to call somebody. The police?”

Sasha dialed the number into her phone. “I’m on it. _Hello? My name is Sasha James, I need the police and- probably an ambulance as well. I’m at the Squatters pub across from the Magnus Institute, London. My emergency? Um, I’m not exactly sure, but I think…_ ”

Jon listened to this conversation with static roaring in his ears. Through a haze, he heard her slightly shrill voice.

“ _We found a body. I- I don’t know if they are still breathing. It was violent, not a natural cause. Should I approach? No? Okay, I’ll stay on the line…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so the fears work a little differently here. my sandbox, my rules!  
> forgive any typos i'm tired as heck and my neck hurts so yeah  
> shoutout to my beta for helping me with the plot holes! couldn't do it without ya! idk how to link but she's @PigeonsInATree on ao3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha tells the story. Jon is in shock. Melanie continues to be unhelpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy! i'm alive for now! but you (hopefully) won't be! this chapter is designed to kill, so let me know what y'all thought of it. i want to say thank you to all those who have supported me this far, i don't know what i would do without you.  
> enjoy!  
> xxx

“…there was blood on the wall, so I thought something was definitely wrong. The whole situation just felt _off_.” Sasha shivered in her seat, Tim wrapping a protective arm around her.

“Well, thank goodness for your powers of perception,” he said drily. The others looked at him with stone faces, anger and loss reflected there. “Okay, sorry, probably not the best time.” He shrugged, his voice going soft, “But I don’t know what else to do.”

“It’s fine, Tim.” Melanie reached across the table to him, her hand open in peace and comfort. He took it, leaning his head on the greasy wood. “What happened next, Sasha?”

She cleared her throat, trying to speak evenly. “After that _thing_ vanished, I thought I must be hallucinating. Drunk, you know? Not all of us have Daisy’s powers of sobriety. But the writing, it was so _real_.”

“What did it say?” Basira asked tersely.

“I am me, but so are you. Don’t forget who I was, lest you see the one who mirrors,” she rattled off readily, trying to pretend the words hadn’t tattooed themselves on the inside of her eyelids.

Daisy leaned back against the tacky bench. “Any idea what that means?”

Jon shook his head imperceptibly, not trusting himself to speak.

Sasha continued her tale. “Then Jon shone a light on the back of the alley, and there was-“ Her voice broke. No, it didn’t break. Breaking implies being whole in the first place. As she told the story of the blood and fear they had encountered in that alley, her voice was already broken, the words crumbling in her mouth. But when her tongue fumbled for the terror, the horror, and sweet _relief_ she encountered when they found the body, it slipped and fell, splintering her throat in a dozen different directions.

“It wasn’t him,” Jon said, his voice dry and cracked.

Basira let her shoulders fall with a thump of elbows and table. “ _Alhamdulillaah_ ,” she whispered.

Daisy narrowed her eyes. “But there was a body. Who’s was it?”

Sasha looked at Jon, pleading him to tell the next part. He cleared his throat, trying to coax words out from lips that wanted to scream. “We don’t know. And I don’t think we will know, to tell you the truth.”

Tim lifted his head off the table, leaving a smudge. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there isn’t anything to identify the body with.”

“Rubbish,” Daisy cut in briskly. “There always is. Fingerprints, jewelry, photos. I used to work in the police, I’ve identified more than my fair share of John Doe’s in my time.”

“No,” he coughed, “You don’t get it. _There isn’t anything left to identify the body with_. The fingertips were torn bloody and raw, probably leaving that note on the wall. The face…” Jon shuddered, remembering the slow trickle of red down a pale neck, the skull bared. “Let’s just say it won’t be much help.”

Melanie covered her mouth with a hand, half yawn half gasp. “It was just _gone_?”

Sasha nodded.

“And no trace of M-martin either.” Jon’s stuttered at the word, saying it out loud making it irredeemably, impossibly, irrevocably true.

“He’ll be fine,” Tim said, trying to smile. “I’m sure he just wandered off a little bit, we’ll find him on a bench somewhere.”

“Or in a ditch,” Daisy muttered. Basira smacked her on the arm. “Hey! What was that for?”

“Not. Helping.”

They sat there in silence, absorbing the startling truth of her words. Martin was out there, _somewhere_ , facing the world alone. And after what Jon had seen in that alley, he wasn’t sure if Martin was still… if Martin was still…

He couldn’t say it. He could not bring his brain to that awful, horrible place where the tea mugs sat half-drunk and cold, jumpers unworn, the flat empty of all life.

He wouldn’t think like that. He _couldn’t_.

Outside the dingy pub, empty except for their shadowy corner, police lights flashed. Yellow tape glared out of the darkness, people hurrying back and forth. Cameras clicked, voices hummed, a mystery unspooling at their feet.

Jon couldn’t bring himself to care about the faceless stranger. Instead, he thought of Martin, flushed with alcohol and something more, speaking in his warm voice, telling them he would be back in a moment.

_It’s been a moment. Where are you? You need to come back. I need you…_

“At least the police are here. They’ll find him soon,” Sasha said soothingly.

Basira huffed. “I doubt it.” They all looked at her in shock and disappointment and she rushed to defend herself. “I’m not being negative. They won’t even look. They are here for that body and nothing else.”

“For all they know,” Daisy crossed her arms, “Martin just wandered off tipsily. Not enough evidence to start up a missing person case.”

Jon’s vision began to darken, his stomach twisting. The sirens outside seemed to grow louder, pressing in on his eardrums with a piercing cry that refused to cease. The floor swam beneath him and he knew enough that this was not the alcohol.

“ _Not enough evidence_?” Tim exploded. “What about the _bloody corpse? The man that vanished into thin air_?”

“Tim, in the best way possible, we aren’t going to be the most reliable sources of information right now.” Melanie’s voice was comfortingly sharp, cutting through the static of a world gone dark.

“Excuse you, I’m very in control of myself right now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw the bartender look over at them and wondered what she saw. A group of drunks, commiserating over some misfortune or other while the world outside howled.

He wondered if she heard the howls, or if it was just him.

Melanie explained slowly, “Look at it from their perspective. You are at _a bar_. You have alcohol in your system. A lot of it. Your word isn’t good for anything.”

“I know what I saw,” Sasha said hotly. “I’m not hallucinating.”

Jon wasn’t sure. He wished he was. He wished he would wake up the next morning, his throat and tongue swollen, his head pounding with a hangover, knowing Martin was in his own flat somewhere, doing the same.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You believe us, then?” Jon asked tentatively.

Daisy rolled her eyes. “’Course we do. Basira and I have worked on enough Section 31 cases to know when something strange is up. But those folks out there? Absolute idiots. Wouldn’t recognize a drunk if he was passed out at their feet. They won’t see anything strange, they won’t even think to call in the experienced officers.”

Tim traced circles into his napkin with a bit of lime rind, trying to keep his hands steady. “So there isn’t anything we can do.”

“I didn’t say that.” Daisy gently nudged Basira out of the booth to let her stand up, stretching her arms.

“Then what are you saying?” Sasha ran a hand through her hair, her eyes unfocused.

Basira reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “She’s saying we need to do our part to find Martin and bring him home before the police need to.”

Jon looked at their little group, mostly drunk and all of them determined. “You two didn’t even know him, why are you offering to help?” he asked, worried there was some ulterior motive hidden _somewhere_.

Daisy rolled her eyes. “I’ve only worked for your blasted Institute for half a day but it was enough to see that Martin is basically the only redeeming quality about that place.”

Silently, they all nodded, the characteristic flush Jon felt creeping up his neck, dulled now by the knowledge that Martin wasn’t there to see.

“Besides,” Basira continued, “He cared about you jerks for some reason, and I trust him.”

Jon stood from the booth, ready to run into the night and search the streets until his feet bled and his eyes were bleary. His body betrayed him, almost collapsing at the sudden movement. The lights overhead were suddenly much too bright, swimming in his eyes.

Daisy caught him with a strong hand. “Whoa there. You need to sit down.”

“I- Martin- need to look-“ he protested as she forcefully sat him down.

She growled at him, actually _growled_. “You are in shock, Sims, and if you don’t let yourself recover I will _force you to._ ”

Tim looked at her, impressed. “Threatening him with self-care? That’ll scare him straight.”

Sasha groaned. “Guys, we need to find Martin. We can’t just sit here moaning about it, we need to do something!”

“I hate to agree with Daisy- ow! _Fine_. Daisy’s right.” Melanie rubbed her shoulder ruefully. “We won’t be any use to him in this state.”

Stung, Jon tried to think of something to say, something to defend himself and his helplessness with. He swam through a sea of excuses, bobbing on shores of half-baked lies and inconvenient truths. None of it, he thought, was good enough for Martin. He sighed, the air not quite leaving his lungs empty. When he tried to breathe again, they did not fill. “Then what do we do?”

“We rest. We regroup tomorrow morning.”

Jon splayed his fingers on the table, instantly regretting it as some bright orange mystery goop attached itself to his palm. Wiping his hand with a napkin, he said, “I don’t need sleep. _I need answers._ ”

“Need I remind you,” Daisy pushed her sleeves up, “That you are in _shock_?”

“Am not.”

Basira looked him up and down before rattling off a list on her fingers. “Clammy skin, irregular breathing, dilated pupils, dizziness-“ She took his arm and laid two fingers on his wrist. “Rapid but weak pulse, pale gray skin- you’ve checked all the boxes.”

He jerked his arm away but said nothing.

Tim clapped his hands together, the sound loud and clear in the heavy silence. “Right. Now that we’ve got Jon’s mental state sorted out, I would love to sleep tonight before we go kick some creep in the arse. I’m assuming you all are as freaked out as me and would love to not have to go home, on public transport, drunk and alone. My place is nearest, what do you guys say to crashing there for the-“ He checked his watch. “Four hours remaining to the night?”

Melanie was already shrugging into her jacket, brushing her dyed hair over her shoulder. Sasha stood with a groan, pulling Tim to his feet. They both looked determined, Sasha’s face grim.

“Let’s go.”

~~~

There are places where time cannot touch you. A bathroom in the back of a gas station in the middle of the night hovers between reality and unreality, the threads of normal life twisted in the seats in an airport, empty parking lots lit only by the glow of a dying sun.

Mentally Jon added riding the Tube after a traumatic near-death experience to the list. The car swayed under his feet. Was it his lingering shock? The alcohol? Or simply the train itself moving?

Basira stood across the aisle from him, her feet planted solidly on the ground. Daisy leaned into the wall, her eyes calculating. Sasha leaned against Tim, her eyes closed, as he rested his elbows on his knees. Melanie tapped her foot, the only sign of anxiety on her cool façade.

Jon saw all this happening, feeling himself float away from it somehow. _Is this all we’ve got_? _I can’t think like this, Martin needs us. **Martin needs us.**_

He clung to that thought like a drowning man, maybe because he was a drowning man. Is water the only thing capable of crushing the air out of your lungs, depriving your brain of oxygen enough to function? Is it necessary to be in physical danger when your body shuts down, incapable of bearing the situation?

He didn’t know.

Jon struggled to breathe, _in, out_ , and watched as the ground swayed beneath his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay two things  
> i'm writing Basira as a muslim character. please let me know if i do anything wrong or insensitive. in this chapter she said "Alhamdulillaah" which means all and total praise to Allah. if i did my research correctly. i'm terrified of messing this up guys!!!  
> also if it isn't painfully clear, i am from the States. i don't know how places where reality is altered work in the UK. are 7-11's universal experiences? they should be. i had to go back and edit out all my 'y'alls' like the southerner i am. it is so hard to have a conversation without them.   
> you poor brits and other non southern folk out there. y'all is the only good thing the english language has given me and i will maintain that until the day i die. 
> 
> anyways  
> what are y'all's thoughts?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! here it is! the chapter! we are still in it folks, but nothing graphic happens here. enjoy the fic and PLEASE let me know what you think! i'm stuck in a bit of a i-hate-everything-i've-created phase and it is Not Fun  
> xxx

Jon felt the light warm his face, golden honey through his eyelids. Without opening his eyes he explored his surroundings, waking up gently. An arm was slung across his waist, the pleasant weight reminding him of something familiar. _Martin_.

Of course. There was something about a blackout, somehow Tim had convinced him to stay the night and he ended up cuddled against Martin’s side.

He couldn’t bring himself to move away, instead nestling closer with an urgency he couldn’t identify. The body he was pressed against shifted under him and something felt _off_ , somehow. It didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel like-

“Martin?”

Jon opened his eyes to a blinding headache and an unfamiliar sight. He was not, in fact, sleeping next to Martin on the floor of the Institute. Instead he was huddled in a bed he did not recognized, two people on either side of him.

Brilliant blue eyes blinked at him from a tan face. “Sorry, mate, it’s me, Tim.”

Jon sat up clumsily, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on? Where am I?” he asked, slightly slurred.

The person behind him protested at the movement. “Hey, what gives?” Sasha groaned, clinging to Jon still.

Tim laughed softly, a hollow sound that didn’t fit his face. “You’re at my flat, remember?”

“But- how? Where’s Martin?”

Sasha sucked a breath in sharply, the air whistling between her teeth. “Oh, love…”

It came trickling back in a haze of nightmarish images. The stranger in the alley. The bloody letters on the wall. The police. Taking the tube to Tim’s flat with his friends, silent and defeated.

Jon’s face crumpled and he fell back into the bed involuntarily. “No- I thought it was a dream, no, a _nightmare_.”

Tim closed his eyes, turning his face into his pillow. “I wish it was.”

“Tim,” he said slowly, trying to find something that could be explained, “Why am I in your bed with Sasha?” Jon blanched. “That came out wrong-“

“I’ll say,” she murmured, tightening her hold on him.

“You had a bit of a breakdown last night,” Tim explained. “Took a while to calm you down, thought you might need the extra comfort.” He shifted away from Jon, giving him a bit more room. The air was cold on his face, bitter and sharp in his absence. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can-“

He vaguely remembered sitting on the floor, staring at everything and nothing while vicious thoughts ran through his head. Some escaped his mouth, biting him as they left his lips.

Jon shook his head. “No.” It might be unprofessional, but at this point, screw it all. He tucked his knees into his chest, allowing his friends to comfort him.

Moments later, or it could have been hours later, the door opened with a thud. “Alright, lovebirds, we gave you some snuggle time, now it’s time to face the day. Think you can do that?”

Sasha rolled over and sat up, her voice deadly determined. “I think-“

Melanie cut her off. “Rhetorical question. _You don’t have a choice._ Now, are you decent?” she asked.

Jon had the strangest feeling he knew who she was talking about. Apparently, so did Tim.

“Morally? Not really. But I am wearing pants, if that’s what your asking.” Tim made to sit up as well, the blankets and Jon clinging to him. He looked down with a laugh. “Didn’t know you were so clingy, boss.”

“M’not.”

Melanie clapped her hands sharply. “To the kitchen. Front and center. We’ve got a real, actual problem- Martin is missing.”

“I know-“ Jon protested, offended.

She turned on her heel, leaving the door open. “Debriefing with Daisy and Basira in two minutes!”

Jon straggled into the kitchen behind Tim, feeling like a walking dumpster fire of disaster but not having enough energy to care. His hair hung, snarled, around his shoulders, the shirt he had borrowed from Tim slipping off his shoulder.

Already seated around the small table were Daisy and Basira, the latter looking pristinely, untouchably perfect, the former raw aggression bottled into a human form. Tim claimed the last seat, cheekily offering his lap to Sasha who took it without a moments hesitation. She leaned against him, looking, for the first time since Jon had known her, extremely vulnerable.

Melanie crossed her ankles as she leaned back on her hands, the granite of the counter unforgiving on her palms. Jon hopped up beside her, looking to Daisy and Basira for direction.

“Here’s what we know-“ Basira began, her voice clear and sharp. “Something attacked Jon and Sasha in that alley and has already killed. They are gone for now, but…”

Daisy leaned her chair back, the back legs leaving the ground. “But we don’t know if it was working alone. It’s in Martin’s best interests if we assume he has been taken by another one of _them_ , and that they are hostile and dangerous.”

They all nodded solemnly, the slight comfort Jon felt when sandwhiched between Tim and Sasha melting away into fear. “What do we do now?” he asked.

“We need to learn more. We don’t know where Martin is, or how to find him, so that’s where we should start,” Melanie piped up.

“And how-“ Tim turned to face her, half joking half desperate. “-do you suggest we do that?”

Sasha spoke without opening her eyes. “The Institute. We get statements about stuff like this all the time, this _can’t_ be the only case.”

“If it has happened before, we’d probably have a statement on file somewhere.” Jon thought of the unorganized Archives, cursing, not for the first time, the state Gertrude had left it in.

Daisy let her chair fall with a thud, forcefully slamming the table to accentuate every word. “ _You. Are. Researchers._ So research.”

“So are you,” Tim pointed out.

She sighed. “As much as it pains me to admit it, you four-“ She gestured to Melanie, Jon, Tim, and Sasha. “-are the qualified ones here. Basira and I will do our best to help, _but_ ,” she put a delicate emphasis on the word, “Our means may be a bit more unconventional than the proper ethics of researchers or whatever.”

Basira nodded.

“I’m not going to ask what that means,” Jon said. “I would like to retain plausible deniability as much as possible.”

“Fair enough.” Basira stood from the table, indicating the brief meeting was over. “Tim, I’m assuming you have food somewhere, mind if we have breakfast here?”

Tim crossed his arms across Sasha’s body. “Sure, just don’t burn the flat down.”

A half hour, several curses from Melanie, a stovetop fire put out with Daisy’s coffee, and a few broken eggs later, Jon scooped scrambled eggs onto the waiting plates, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder.

They ate hesitantly at first, almost fearful. The conversation petered out quickly when his friends realized that Jon could cook more than passable food.

Daisy scraped up the last bit of egg onto her fork, swallowing quickly. She took Basira’s empty plate and her own to the sink, Melanie adding her own dish to the pile.

“Thanks for breakfast, Jon,” Sasha said, still speaking as though she was the next thing to break.

His answering smile was a bitter one, the gap between his seat and Basira’s empty of Martin’s warm presence.

~~~

They rode the Tube to the Institute again, Tim’s car not large enough to fit all of them. ( _“Who would buy a two-seat car, Tim, other than you?”/”You’re just jealous, Mels.”/”Call me that and I **will** break your legs.”_)

Jon looked around the crowded car with new eyes, not blinded by alcohol and disoriented by blind panic. The people opposite him stared at their phones, earbuds blasting music in their ears.

He wanted to shout at them, to ask them how they were checking Twitter when a monumental shift in the cosmos had derailed everything.

Sasha saw the look on his face and reached for his hand, asking _is this okay?_ with a glance. He nodded, squeezing it gratefully.

Jon didn’t know how he would be able to do this without them.

~~~

Silent, they filed into the lobby of the Magnus Institute. Rosie looked up from her desk quizzically as Daisy and Basira passed. “What’s up with you lot? You look like somebody died!” She laughed, clearly meaning it as a joke.

Jon winced, Melanie glaring daggers at the woman.

“I take it you haven’t heard,” Tim said heavily.

“Uh, no. Heard what?”

Jon turned away as Tim explained the situation. “…nothing official yet, but we have a very good reason to suspect foul play. The police are being- unhelpful, to say the least.”

“Oh no, poor Martin…” Rosie’s eyes were wide, fingers pressed to her lips. “I hope he’s alright.”

Tim drew himself up. “He has to be. _He has to be…_ ”

~~~

When Jon opened the door to his office, it felt like opening a portal to another world. The shape of the desk seemed so alien it was almost startling, the pens he had clearly bought unfamiliar to his eyes. With a sigh, he dropped his jacket on the floor knowing he would regret it later.

He pulled a stack of statements towards him, sitting down wearily. Jon picked one at random and began to read, scanning each line for a hint of what had happened to Martin.

_Statement of Staff Sergeant Clarence Berry, regarding his time serving with Wilfred Owen in the Great War. Original statement given November 6 th, 1922…_

Nothing. Nothing useful. _It has to be the next one._

_Statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding his claimed demonic possession. Original statement given May 30 th, 2011…_

Jon groaned as he finished the statement. Nothing there either. _You just need to keep looking_ , he reminded himself.

_Statement of Joseph Russo regarding a book allegedly authored by Sir Frederick Treeves. Original statement given June 3 rd, 2003…_

~~~

Hours later with nothing to show for his work but an aching back and a headache, Jon decided to check on the others. He passed Melanie, reading aloud to herself from a dusty book while sharpening a knife, and decided not to say anything. Basira and Daisy were hunched around a sleek laptop, Basira typing fast.

“…maybe if we run the databases with a wider query, we can get a bit more info on the Section 31 cases that have passed redaction?” Basira was saying.

“Doubt it. Nothing gets past chief and his red pen. Best place would be to check the corners, I know Thompson left a loophole somewhere, if we can get into that maybe we’ll have a better shot…”

Jon cleared his throat. “What are you two doing?” he asked.

“Do you really want to know?”

He considered this. “Not really.”

Daisy shooed him away with a hand. “Then move along, go see if Tim has anything new.”

Jon found Tim in the breakroom, laying flat on his back and repeatedly throwing and catching a bruised apple.

“Oh, hey, Jon.” _Thunk_. “What’s up?” _Thunk_.

“You know, just trying to find a missing person,” he said sarcastically. “What are you doing?”

_Thunk_. “Thinking.” _Thunk_.

Jon was about to ask him what he hoped to accomplish by thinking, as it had clearly never worked in the past, but Sasha burst into the room at that moment. Her hair was disheveled, as if she had run her hands through it in agitation.

“Where is everybody?” she asked, slightly breathless.

Tim sat up. “Down here somewhere.”

Not giving him a chance to interrupt, she brandished a manilla folder at the two of them. “I found something. Gather the troops, I’ve got a feeling we’ve got a fight on our hands.”

~~~

“What did you find?” Daisy asked brusquely once they were all seated in the break room.

Sasha launched into a rapid fire explanation, speaking with a frenetic energy. “I was reading some old statements when I came across two in particular that seemed to fit what happened yesterday. One is-“ She checked the papers spread in front of her. “-statement #0122204, from a Nathan Watts about an encounter on Old Fish Market Close.”

“Hang on,” Jon said slowly. “I remember that one. That one was the...”

“The first one that didn’t record digitally, yeah,” Tim interrupted. “With the cigarette-addict monster. What was the second statement?”

“#9941509, statement of Lucy Cooper. This one here is a little different.” Sasha tapped the statement. “Standard spooky stuff on the inside, but at the bottom I found some notes from Gertrude.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? What did they say?” Melanie urged.

“I need to read you lot the statements first, or they won’t make any sense.”

Jon leaned forward in his seat. “ _What did they say?_ ”

Sasha cleared her throat and began to read.

“ _Case 9941509- Lucy Cooper. Incident occurred in Draycott, Somerset, August 1994. Victim’s name given as Rose Cooper. Statement given 15 th of September, 1994. Taken direct from subject by Gertrude Robinson. _

_There is a stranger claiming to be my mother. I don’t know who she is. Everyone else says that she’s my mother, and gives me looks of alarm when I tell them she’s an imposter. I don’t know what to do.._

_…I used to think I hated my mother; I really did. But now I can’t stop listening to those tapes, now I know they’re the only way I’ll ever hear her voice again. All of them except the tape we recorded on the old myths of the fae, of the changelings. I’m not ready to listen to that one yet._ ”

She finished reading and looked up. They all stared at her, shocked.

“You aren’t saying that Martin…” Tim began.

“No, not like that. I think that they tried to get him, but something happened that made them change their mind.” Sasha twisted a strand of hair around her finger as she spoke. “But it fits, at least partly. The part about the changeling, or whatever it was that took the place of her mother.”

Melanie frowned. “What did the notes say?”

Sasha straightened the papers with trembling hands. “This is the part that really scares me. I don’t want to believe it, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

“Sasha-“ Jon snapped. “What did you find?”

“I’ll read it to you.

_Supplemental- I’ve noticed the Eye getting restless. It Knows something is up. I don’t know how much longer I can fool Elias, the Desolation is already on my tail. The Stranger is stirring. I need to act now._ ”

Sasha handed Jon the page without another word, showing him the scribbled list at the bottom of the paper.

_SMIRKE’S FOURTEEN FEARS_

_-The Eye_

_-The Stranger_

_-The Web_

_-The Dark_

_-The Vast_

_-The Corruption_

_-The Slaughter_

_-The Hunt_

_-The End_

_-The Buried_

_-The Desolation_

_-The Flesh_

_-The Lonely_

_-The Spiral_

“What is all this?” Jon asked, his throat dry. He passed it to Tim.

“My guess is that each of these ‘fears’ or whatever correspond to a monster of some sort, or monsters I guess, that have a specific brand of fear? This statement, the one about the missing mother would fit with the Stranger _I think_.” Sasha rambled while they all took turns reading.

“Do you think the Stranger or whatever took Martin?” Melanie asked.

Sasha shrugged. “It’s the only lead we got.”

“But what’s the part about Elias? In the notes?” Basira frowned at her hands. “Something is off about him.”

“What do we do?”

It took Jon a moment to realize that Tim was asking him. He swallowed, trying not to let his hands shake. “I think,” he said slowly, “It’s time we had a talk with Elias.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in order, the statements mentioned are-  
> episode 7-the piper  
> episode 19- confession  
> episode 68-tale of a field hospital  
> episode 1-anglerfish  
> episode 77-the kind mother


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang has a talk with Elias. Or, rather, Elias has a talk with them.
> 
> TW for emotional abuse, non-explicit discussion of abusive parents, knife violence, manipulation, emotional trauma, you know all that good stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! so i didn't update saturday, and i'm sorry abt that, but i did have a valid reason. what is that reason, you ask? it's my birthday! i tell you, like you care. so i had a lovely weekend with the family, celebrating managing to survive another trip around the sun.  
> i had to split this chapter up because i was going CRAZY and giving myself a headache. it's pretty dialogue heavy, which is a new thing for me. i hope y'all enjoy! please comment and tell me what you think!  
> xxx

When fear becomes a more familiar staple in your life, the terror dulls. The startling realization that came with the arrival of Jane Prentiss at the Institute had dulled over time, fading into the routine of checking the bottoms of shoes and triple-sweeping the floor.

As Jon walked up the hall, followed by his shocked coworkers, the fear was reborn fresh in his mind. The ashes of terrors past had blown away, lost to the wind, replaced with a fiery phoenix of loss and horror. The statements Sasha had found did little to relieve his fears, instead stoking the fire of horrible possibilities.

_Will we find Martin? What condition will he be in, if we do?_

The chance that the man Jon had been falling for slowly might be gone from the world was too much to handle at the moment, so instead, he focused on the clicking of his heels on the floor.

The doorway to Elias’ office was hovering on his periphery, growing closer with every step, seeming to glow with a malicious light Jon was _sure_ he was imagining. He paused, his hand inches from the handle. He jumped slightly when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Tim’s eyes were unusually grave. “We’re right behind you, boss.”

Jon nodded, swallowing. He pushed open the door with a creak of hinges and an inaudible sigh of defeat.

Elias looked up from his desk, smoothing his tie down. “Archivist, Tim, Sasha, Melanie, Daisy, Basira… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jon coughed slightly before speaking, an unpleasant aroma lingering in the air. It was… vaguely fruity? and tinged with nicotine? He waved the thoughts aside. “You have heard about what happened to Martin, I assume.”

“I heard he wandered off, yes, but other than that, no, I am not all-knowing. I have no additional knowledge of the, er, _situation_ , at hand.”

Behind him, Jon could hear Tim grinding his teeth forcefully. With difficulty, he swallowed his disgust and anger. “We decided to do a bit of digging ourselves, as the police didn’t seem to be very interested in our case.”

Daisy leaned against the wall, arms crossed in a defensive stance. “Not enough evidence to file a missing person report.”

“Unfortunately, yes, the police do tend to be rather unhelpful a vast majority of the time.” Elias raised an eyebrow at Basira who had clenched her fists, about to say something angrily. “Ah, Ms. Hussain, do you have something to add to the conversation?”

She refrained from rolling her eyes with difficulty, shaking her head. Behind her, Melanie muttered, “ _Prick._ ”

He cleared his throat. “Need I remind you,” he began, with a pointed glare at each of them, “You are all my employees. I would watch your words carefully if I were you, Ms. King.”

With the air of mentally flipping someone off, Melanie looked down at her pouted lips and said, louder this time, “Prick.”

Sasha’s face was pale with exhaustion and fear. “Elias, we found something in the Archives.”

“I must say, that’s a first. Finally getting around to doing our jobs, are we?”

Tim looked like he was ready to commit murder on the spot, regardless of the number of witnesses.

“Something that might tie into Martin’s disappearance. You see, Jon and I saw something very concerning that night. I don’t know if you’ll believe us…” she trailed off uncertainly, quailing under his gaze.

“Let me be the judge of that. **Now, what is it you have come to tell me?** ”

Almost unable to stop himself, Jon laid out that fateful night. How they had gone out for drinks. The encounter in the alley. The blood on the wall. The statements Sasha had found. He stopped, taking a deep breath, leaving out the part about the notes Gertrude had left.

Elias hummed thoughtfully. “I see.”

He did not elaborate. They sat there, silent, waiting for their boss to react. To call them crazy, to throw them out of his office, at the very least to act surprised. Elias didn’t seem shocked at the tale at all.

Jon found himself growing angry. Their coworker was missing, possibly abducted by an eldritch being they knew very little about, and all he had to say was _I see_?

Next to him, Jon felt Tim tensing up, waves of emotion radiating off the man. “Is that it? You aren’t going to do anything?”

“And what,” Elias said crisply, “do you expect me to be able to do about it? I am just a man, a man who does not have significant or credible influence in most of polite society, might I add.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Basira muttered from her station near Daisy. Sasha leaned forward, bracing her palms against the desk. Melanie lay sprawled over the only chair, Tim and Jon standing shoulder to shoulder, almost like soldiers, off to the side.

“That’s part of why we had to come to talk to you. Normally, we would avoid doing anything that brought us into contact with you, but these are special circumstances.” Sasha slammed down the page that contained Gertrude’s cryptic notes about Elias and the list of Smirke’s fourteen fears, whatever they might be.

“Ms. James, I am your boss and should be treated as-“

Melanie snorted from the chair. “Can it, Elias, just listen to the woman for once.”

Elias closed his mouth, not out of fear or respect but out of what appeared to be bored resignation. “And what is this?”

Sasha read the note aloud. “ _Supplemental- I’ve noticed the Eye getting restless. It Knows something is up. I don’t know how much longer I can fool Elias, the Desolation is already on my tail. The Stranger is stirring. I need to act now._ ”

“Mhm, I see.”

“Yeah, you’ve said!” Melanie exploded. “Elias, what the f-“

“Ms. King, I will not ask you to mind your language again,” he interrupted. “What exactly am I supposed to make of this?” he asked, gesturing at the paper.

“Answers,” Tim sighed, exhausted. “We just want answers. What was Gertrude talking about?”

Elias tapped a finger against his chin. “Nothing. Just the senile ramblings of an old woman.”

“BS,” Sasha said immediately. “That is a load of dung if I ever saw one. She was sharp up until the end.”

“Then how,” Elias spread his hands, gesturing broadly at the Archives, “do you explain this mess?”

As much as Jon hated to admit it, Elias had a point.

He continued, “Now if there aren’t any more unwarranted accusations you wanted to throw at me, is there anything else you wanted from me?”

Melanie cocked one leg up over the over, a small knife appearing in her hands. The glint of the blade caught Jon’s eye and he shot her a warning look.

“Elias, do you have any information at all that could help us find Martin? We already told you, we think it’s something supernatural.” Jon tried to speak calmly, thinking over and over of nothing but punching his smug face. _Anger isn’t going to help Martin._

“Well, I thought you believed the statements were a load of codswallop, Archivist.” The man grinned slyly at him, a smile that spoke of secrets and lies. “What’s changed your mind? Dare I say- what’s changed your heart?”

Jon went white. “Don’t- you- _dare_ -“

The room was filled with tension, a buzzing static that held them captive. Elias seemed to draw all the power in the room towards him, draining his employees of their resolve. “Don’t what? Tell you the truth?”

Basira cleared her throat. “Can we take one crisis at a time? First, find Martin, then deal with Jon’s self-deception and emotional repression?”

“Wha- I’m not- why would you..?” Jon spluttered.

Tim clamped a hand on his arm and muttered out of the side of his mouth, “ _Not. Now._ ”

“Ah, Ms. Hussain, that’s the fun part. Are you looking for Martin? Or are you looking for the man who made you feel better about yourselves? The man who let you walk over him to a room of safety? The man who would bring you tea and tell you it was alright, not expecting anything in return?”

Melanie growled, low in her throat. “It’s your turn to watch your mouth, Bouchard. I will not play your silly mind games-“

Elias kept talking, his words crisp and clear. “Detective Tonner, you are haunted by the memory of a mistake you made years ago. Every action you take is to atone for this sin, this fatal flaw, yet you haven’t regretted it. This is not repentance: this is foolishness.”

Daisy’s composure slipped slightly, her knuckles going white. She opened her mouth to speak but never got the chance.

“Office Hussain, you have spent your entire life in the company of monsters. Your father left the most scars, but were they the deepest? No, in fact, the memories that burn the most to this day are the small ones. Your mother, turning away when you told her your deepest secret. Your best friend, laughing as you fell. Your boss, treating you like an object rather than a human being. Your partner was the first to see you, to really know who you are, but do you know who they are?”

“How do you- what are you talking about?” Basira’s voice was not steady, yet it did not betray fear. The power behind her words made all the more human by the slight tremors in her inflection.

There was no stopping Elias now, no breaking into his steamroller of a monologue as he singlehandedly picked the people in front of him to the bone, baring their souls to nobody but themselves. “Ms. James, jealousy does not become you. It never fit you, never will. Spite is deadly only for the poisoner, but you know that already.” He steepled his fingers in front of him, surveying the shaken face in front of him with clinical curiosity. “A word to the wise- the best way to bring down anything is from the inside.”

Tim moved towards Sasha and wrapped a protective arm around her. She startled at his touch, shrinking slightly. “Buzz off, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Elias raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, don’t I?”

“No,” he said firmly, “You don’t.”

“Then allow me to prove you wrong. You wake every morning, swearing to a candle-lit memory that you will be better today. That you will hold them all a little closer, talk a little louder, in hopes that the vague shadows will leave you be. Letting Martin leave was not your fault but it was your failure.”

Jon could not move, he could not speak. The words flowed from Elias’ tongue, honey silvered by darkest moonlight, a specific venom targeting the weakest parts of a mind. There was no doubt in his mind now- Gertrude had not been senile, _she had been right._

Right about what? He didn’t know. He only knew that his legs would not listen to the part of his brain telling him to _run run hide do not be seen_ , instead hanging onto every word Elias spoke.

“What is going on?” he managed to choke out through unwilling lips.

“This is the truth, Archivist. It is time you heard it. But what does it matter to you? You see what you want to, you hear what you please. In one moment fear kept you safe, in the next, it is the thing holding you captive.” As Elias spoke, his tone turned silkily soft, slipping into their ears with dangerous ease. “Tell me, Archivist, how many opportunities have passed while you watched?”

The answer was pulled from him like a splinter, leaving Jon hurting more in its absence than in the presence of it’s dull pain. “Too many,” he muttered.

“And that leaves you, Ms. King. How long has it been since you have felt safe enough, wanted enough, to be yourself? This rebellion you lead- is it against the world around you or against your own mind? Has it ever occurred to you that life is not a pill one swallows dry, grimacing against the sting, but a-“

In an instant, Melanie was out of her chair and standing next to Elias, her knife dangerously close to his throat. “Enough!” she shouted, her voice raw. “I will not stand here and let you psychoanalyze your pretend notion of me, I am not something to be used for your amusement! You don’t know me, don’t pretend you do,” she spat.

“My, my, seems like I touched a nerve.” Elias regarded her coolly, remarkably complacent for a man being threatened.

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. But I might.”

“No, you won’t,” he said, slightly singsong.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Melanie shifted her grip, angling it closer to a dark vein. “Give me one reason why shouldn’t. You are a terrible boss and human being. As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure you _are_ human. I have verbal confirmation from everyone in this room that _they will help me hide your body._ ”

Elias smiled at her. “You won’t kill me, because you can’t.”

“You. Don’t. Know. _Me_.”

“Actually, I do, but that is beside the point.”

Basira and Daisy didn’t move as Melanie pressed the knife into his throat, leaving a small red cut in the pale flesh there. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t, and I promise I won’t listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you tell me your favorite line i will love you forever


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias is a prick. But what else is new? Oh, murder. That's what's new. Elias reveals very little in a heart-to-heart while a knife is held at his throat. Sasha has a plan.
> 
> CW- slight mention of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting somewhere, folks. i'm dying to write the happy parts but NO! we must ANGST!  
> for obvious reasons this is not exactly canon compliant. i took inspiration from the canon scene where elias reveals all, but i did take some creative liberties. just a fair warning.  
> i hope y'all enjoy, let me know what you think!  
> xxx

“Bold words, Ms. King.” Elias grinned at her, heedless of the knife at his throat.

“Oh believe me,” she growled, “They are more than just words.”

Jon watched as a slow trickle of crimson blood traced a path towards his collar. The color surprised him, a confirmation that whatever Elias was, he was still human. At least mostly.

“Unfortunately for you, my demise would also mean yours.”

Over near the door, Daisy snorted. “Not likely.”

Elias looked at her, his eyes taking in everything in front of him and more. “I mean it. You kill me and every single one of you dies.”

Jon sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t want to believe him, but the words carried the heavy weight of truth.

“What are you on about?”

“You read Gertrude’s notes, did you not, Ms. James? Gertrude was barking up the wrong tree, but at least she was barking. There is an element of truth to a few statements brought here. There are supernatural forces in this world, and the Institute, my beautiful Institute, is the beating heart of it. You are all tied to this place now, and by simple deduction, me. If I or the Institute is destroyed in some way, the rest of you will follow suit.”

The room sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the

“You’re lying,” Tim said flatly.

“He’s not.”

“Jon! Don’t side with him!”

Daisy pushed off from the wall and stalked forward. “That’s enough. Elias- either cut the crap _now_ or else…” she trailed off threateningly.

Sasha watched this happening with wide but calculating eyes, surprised that she was right about something but not entirely afraid of the man either. “Daisy, Melanie, wait. He’s right, we can’t kill him. We need him alive, unfortunately.”

“Not you too!” Tim exploded. “He can’t be telling the truth, there is no way any of this is real.”

“Is there?” Elias said coolly. “Haven’t you wondered why none of you can quit, no matter how much you want to? Haven’t you read enough statements to know the real thing when it’s shoved under your nose? I would suggest you believe, Mr. Stoker, bad things happen to those who don’t.”

“We need him alive. Even if he doesn’t know where Martin is, he might know something about those statements we found.” Sasha’s voice was calm, her words level. Melanie lowered her knife reluctantly, stepping back slightly. Daisy, however, did not back down.

“And he hasn’t committed any crimes to warrant an arrest,” Basira sighed. “Believe me, I would gladly do so.”

“Yet,” Tim muttered.

Anger swelled in Jon’s chest like a marshmallow over a flame, growing and growing but with no real substance behind it. He knew there would be a point when the size could not be supported any longer by frail spun sugar, but he didn’t care. “We don’t know that for sure. **Elias, is there any reason we should arrest you?** ”

Elias smiled, half of his mouth curling sickeningly. “And what makes you think I’ll answer- _oh. Oh, that’s quite nice, actually. Rather tingly, very freeing._ Yes, Archivist, the answer to your question is yes.”

Daisy huffed in triumph, Sasha going stiff. “What did you do?” she asked fearfully.

“I’m afraid only the Archivist here can ask me that.”

“My name is _Jon_ ,” he snarled, his anger still blooming.

Elias shrugged, still managing to make the motion look professional. “Whatever you say. Now, won’t you ask me again?”

“Hang on- I’m lost here, what’s happening?” Tim looked around the room, pleading for an answer with his eyes. He wanted this, but now it was being handed to him he didn’t know how to feel. Jubilant? Justified? Afraid?

“ **Elias- why? Why should we arrest you?** ”

“Well,” he drawled, pulling the word out across several sticky syllables, “I wouldn’t say you _should_ arrest me. As I said, I’m not sure how successful you’ll be. You are in my power after all.”

Melanie tightened her hold on the knife. “Don’t start that again. Just answer the blasted question.”

“Not like I have a choice. I am guilty of many things, being dashingly attractive and ruthlessly effective among them, but I killed Gertrude Robinson and Jurgen Leitner.” A collective gasp rose- of all the results to come from this interrogation, a murder confession was not what any had in mind. “Gertrude because she knew too much; Leitner because he was an, ah, _unnecessary_ complication.”

Jon reeled in shock, unable to process what was happening. What with Martin disappearing, discovering that he was under the control of some supernatural being, and having his entire world shaken from its foundations, finding out his boss was a murderer was just too much. Elias sat in front of him, pristine and cold, watching them all over steepled fingers, confessing to murder like he was discussing the weather- the whole situation was giving Jon whiplash. If you ignored the blood crusting on his neck, Elias seemed like your normal corporate boss.

Unlike Jon, Daisy had not been struck dumb. She lunged at Elias, her hand straying to her pocket.

Basira took half a step forward. “Daisy, wait.”

She snarled, her teeth bared. “Out the way.”

Melanie backed up against the wall, raising her hands placatingly. “Now, hang on, hang on, shouldn’t we arrest him?”

Daisy glared at her. “ _Get out the way._ ”

Sasha raised her voice warningly. “ _Jon_.”

Tim looked as if he had half a mind to strangle the man himself. “Well? What are we waiting for? He just _confessed to homicide for the love of everything that is good and pure in this world will you just get on with it_??”

Jon opened his mouth to speak, hating himself for it. “We can’t kill him. That will only kill all of us as well and don’t forget, we need to find Martin. He’s out there, alone.”

“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Daisy burst out. “We have nothing to gain by trusting him.”

“But everything to lose.” Elias smiled at her, his eyes sharp with venom. Jon wondered how he had missed it before, the aura of _bad_ surrounding the man palpable. “If you kill me now, if you shoot me like I know you want to, you will squeeze the trigger and watch the only person you care about die screaming.”

Daisy turned to Basira, her face torn in pain so raw Jon had to look away. Just more evidence of the way Elias had hurt someone without even caring about the consequences.

After a tense moment, Daisy straightened up. “ _Fine_. You win this one, but I’m keeping an eye on you. If I so much as get a whiff of _anything_ , you’re done, Bouchard.”

“Oh, believe me, I think I know a thing or two about watching,” he said, stretching out his neck.

“What do you want?” she spat.

Elias blinked, feigning innocence. “What do I want? I’m not the one who just stormed an office and threatened to kill multiple times. What I want is a simple thing, Ms. Tonner.”

“And what-“ Sasha asked tersely, “-is that?”

He grinned lazily. “Power. But I already have that, thanks to you. I do run a business, so I’m sure you all can find better things to do with your time.”

Tim laughed hollowly. “So that’s it? You confess to murder, tell us our lives are being _controlled_ by some supernatural force, Martin might be at the mercy of one of those forces, and you just want us to go back to work?” 

“Exactly. I believe we understand each other perfectly. Now, if that’s all, I would rather like to get back to what I was doing before.” Elias pulled a pen out of his draw, shooing at them with one pale hand.

Daisy opened the door, letting Basira go through first. She cast a venomous look over her shoulder, growling slightly. Tim followed, rolling up his sleeves unevenly.

Jon lingered for a moment. “Elias- why did you kill Gertrude?” he asked, trying to put the same heat, the same _wanting_ behind the words as he had before.

Elias tutted at him. “That’s all the answers for tonight, Archivist. You’ll have to find your own from here on out, I’m afraid. I would suggest you not waste your time trying to quit.”

Jon left the room, trying not to shout. They had spent the day researching and trying to win a mind game, what did they have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but a worthless criminal confession, a newfound source of existential dread, a cryptic note, and a half hollow lead.

Elias’ voice drifted out of the open door one last time. “It was supposed to be you, Archivist.”

His heart stopped, his stomach dropping. _What does he mean? Is this my fault?_

Melanie brushed past him, running a thumb along her knife. She didn’t say anything, and in the interest of self-preservation, neither did he.

Jon’s feet carried him to the break room where he was unsurprised to find Daisy, Basira, Tim, and Sasha already there. They were silent, each caught up in their own thoughts. Daisy rested her forehead on the table, brushing knees with Basira. Sasha was re-reading the statements again, highlighter in hand. Tim closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw the colorful box of teabags. A sudden vision of Martin, laughing as he shoved the box into Tim’s hands. _“Teabags? You insult me, Tim, only loose-leaf tea here._ ”

The box still sat on the edge of the counter, flaunting its presence. _I’m here and he isn’t_ , it seemed to say. _What are you going to do about it?_

Jon cleared his throat rustily. “Uh…does anybody want tea?”

Tim opened his eyes in surprise. “Actually, yeah, that sounds great.”

Basira and Daisy added their requests, voices cracking slightly.

He put the kettle on, turning the flame up. “Sorry, it won’t be as good as…well, I never could make it like Martin could,” he finished flatly. Sasha crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him close.

“It’s alright,” she said quietly, reading his mind, “He’ll be alright. He’s a fighter.”

He said nothing, staying there for a moment, letting himself be held.

The kettle whistled and Sasha broke away.

With a steaming mug of semi-drinkable tea and a hot wave of memories in hand, Jon faced his coworkers. “Well, that was…”

“Absolute trash?”

“I was going to say _enlightening_ but that works too.”

Tim sipped his tea slowly, relishing the way it burned his throat. “Any idea what we are supposed to do now?”

Sasha tapped her highlighter against her mug. “Actually, yes, I do have a plan.”

They all looked at her, not daring to hope but eager to listen.

“Daisy and Basira, I need you to see what you can find out about Elias. Use all your powers of persuasion to get information out of your cop friends, get into the databases somehow, look for a missing person report for whoever Jurgen Leitner is, I don’t care.” Sasha pulled her hair into a low bun as she spoke, determined. “If you can find something that gets Elias out of our hair, so much the better.”

“On it.” Daisy stood, pulling Basira up with her. “What do you say we see if we can still log in to the central data bank?”

“I’m down. Anything to get that prick behind bars.”

“Be careful,” she admonished as the pair left. “Don’t get hurt. Text if you find anything.”

They both nodded. Soon, all they could hear were softening footsteps. Melanie appeared in the doorway, her face a mask of poorly disguised anger and hatred. She plopped into one of the vacant chairs.

“Heard you’ve got a plan. What can I do to help?”

Jon watched in awe as Sasha took charge. Even when she was clearly frightened, the lengths she was willing to go to in order to achieve her goals was terrifying yet admirable.

“Melanie, Tim, we can’t kill or harm Elias outright, apparently.” Sasha rolled her eyes but continued, “So either you find a way to make his life _hell_ or help me and Jon research.”

“Piss off Elias,” they said in unison.

Sasha smiled tiredly. “Perfect. You too go plot on how to frame him for tax fraud, find his weed stash or something, I don’t care. Jon, you ready to do some digging?”

Jon stared into the bottom of his mug, letting the taste of the tea mingle with the day’s flavors on his tongue. “Yes, I am.”

“Then let’s get to work.” Sasha scooted her chair back with a scraping that could wake the dead, tucking the statements under her arm. “You two, I better see some quality stuff. If Elias is smiling after today, we are going to have some issues…”

Tim saluted her, Melanie tucking the knife into some mysterious place. “So, I’m thinking we start small…” Her voice trailed off as Tim led the way to the storage closet.

_It was supposed to be you, Archivist._

Here was his chance to make everything right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random question but  
> based on my writing in this fic (and any other fics of mine you've read if you have at all)  
> what would you guess my age is?  
> (i won't be offended honestly just curious)  
> don't judge me by the first few chapters tho i'm not in love with those


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a lot happens in very little time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK BABY!!!  
> didn't think i would abandon this, would you? took a short break for the tma hurt/comfor week (which was a blast) and finally felt inspired again! i ripped this out in like two hours and i went from 1500 word goal to almost 5000. hope you like long chapters, because this one is probably my favorite so far! please comment and let me know your thoughts (it's a little discouraging to post and get radio silence, i do this for me yes but also for you guys! i enjoy your feedback!)  
> canon exists but i am really doing whatever tf i want to with the timeline, just keep that in mind  
> xxx

“…regarding her experience exploring the Three Counties System of caves with her sister Alena Sanderson. This one is dated November 9th, 2014, Sasha.” The slightly warped paper crinkled in his hands as Jon spoke, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the document storage room of the Archives.

Sasha nodded, uncapping a pen with her teeth. “Another one for the spooky pile, then?”

“This one didn’t record digitally without corruption,” he rubbed his eyes, trying to convince his vision to clear.

“So that’s a yes?”

He sighed. “I’m not sure, at this point I would assume so.” Jon handed the statement to her and she stapled it together, scribbling something on a pad of paper balanced on her knee.

“Do you remember this one?” she asked, her eyes focused on what she was writing.

Jon tried to stretch his memory back to a time when all he had to worry about was whether or not the latest patron of the Institute was just another drunk. He had a sudden vision of himself pacing the very same halls with crisp footsteps, wrinkling his nose at the state of organization the place was in.

It was an odd thing, to be nostalgic for a time that had been so filled with irritation and annoyance, but Jon would have traded anything to be then.

He fiddled with the sleeves of his jumper, lost in thought. Most things were better, but-

Jon watched Sasha work diligently and remembered her drunken smile, the way Tim’s eyes had lit up when he had shown up on that fateful night, Martin’s pleased expression-

Maybe not everything.

“Hey. Sims. Focus.” Sasha snapped her fingers under his nose, effectively bringing him back to earth. “What was this one about?”

He wrenched himself back to the unpleasant reality with difficulty. “Uh, claustrophobia, I think. She was lost in the caves and had a panic attack or something, apparently the tunnels kept changing on her? Her sister died, I believe.”

She shuddered. “Horrible way to go.” Sasha tore a corner out of her notebook and scribbled _claustrophobia?_ on it, pinning it to a large sheet of corkboard she had found who knows where.

It joined a few other torn scraps bearing names like _spooky doors /heights /spiders /dead animals?_

The fruits of half a day’s research. Jon sighed and pulled another statement towards himself from the box Sasha had taken from his desk, containing statements that had turned into streams of gibbered code and error messages when he had tried to record them to his laptop.

He scanned the first page. “Statement of Carlos Vittery, regarding his arachnophobia and its manifestations. Statement given April 9th, 2015. Another spider one,” he added, tossing it gently onto the surprisingly large pile among the many Sasha was organizing the statements into.

“We’ve got a lot of those,” she noted, lining up the edges on a thick wad of paper in her hands. “Oh, how about this one- statement of Sebastian Adekoya, regarding at Chiswick library. Statement given June 10th, 1999. Do we put this one in the creepy books or meat pile?”

“Hmmm,” Jon mused, reading another statement from one Andrea Nunuis, some half-coherent ramblings about getting lost in Italy, and something about a frustrated goth? “I’d say creepy books, but write it down that it could be both.”

“Got it.” Sasha paused her note-taking for a moment and looked at Jon.

“What?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Her eyes were tired, her voice heavy with something that creased her face when she replied. “That jumper…” she said softly.

Jon looked at the sleeve he was rubbing habitually between his fingers. He let out a soft noise of comprehension when he realized-

“It’s Martin’s, isn’t it.”

He nodded, feeling the weight of the knit fabric on his shoulders as if he had just put it on, noticing for the first time how much it _smelled_ like him. Something sweet and soft, reminding Jon of when his gran used to do his laundry and dry it out in the sun, bringing it back in crisp and fresh from the sunlight. “I just found it on his desk,” he said quietly, slightly defensive. “I hope he doesn’t mind.”

Sasha smiled sadly. “I’m sure he wouldn’t care. Probably would love the way it looks on you.”

“Wh- what are you- I, I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

She laughed for a moment. “He would say you look adorable.”

“He would _not_ ,” he protested hotly. “I am not- and never have been- _adorable._ ”

“Whatever you say,” she said, turning back to the mess of information she was desperately trying to untangle into a single thread they could follow back to Martin.

Jon breathed in the scent of the jumper, trying to suppress his thoughts. _Focus, Jon,_ he scolded himself, _read the statement._

“….this one is DEFINITELY meat.” Sasha looked slightly queasy as she read out, “Statement of Gregory Pryor regarding his investigations into one Hector Laredo during the summer of 2007. Original statement given March the 11th, 2008…”

~~~

“…do you think it’ll work?” Tim leaned against the wall, tipping his head back with his eyes closed.

“’ Course it will,” Melanie said brusquely, “We’re always right.”

He smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth perking up. “Of course, how could I have forgotten?”

“And even if it doesn’t,” she continued, “We can always manage to turn it into something to complain to HR about.”

“I like the way you think, Mel.”

She tossed an empty granola bar wrapper at him, crumbs spilling onto his lap. “Don’t call me that _ever_.”

“No?” He opened one eye, “What about Mels? Watermelanie? King?”

“No, no, and maybe.”

“That’s good enough for me. _King_.” Tim sat up straight again, twitching the papers covered with rough diagrams and half-legible notes towards himself. “Should we go over the plan again?”

“Sure. Phase One- distract Elias. That’s your part.” Melanie crossed her legs, leaning back on her hands.

“I’ll tell Elias- hm, what should I tell him?” Tim wracked his brains for something to draw Elias out of his office, something to keep him and his Eye distracted.

“You could light something on fire,” Melanie suggested.

“Nah, we need to be more subtle.”

“Get _Rosie_ to light something on fire.”

He smiled, seemingly forgetting the seriousness of their situation for a moment. “I would love to see that,” he said wistfully, “I reckon she’s got loads of pent-up anger from working in reception. We don’t want to get her fired, though.”

“Fair enough,” Melanie conceded.

They sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the best way to distract Elias.

Tim cleared his throat, “What does he hate?”

“Happiness, laughter, love, children, puppies and other adorable animals, people smiling, carbonated soda, crowds, the concept of hope, not being in control-“ she rattled off without hesitating. “Taxes, the government, Americans, the idea that people are enjoying themselves…”

“You know, we could work with that,” Tim mused. “What if we told him some tourists from the States want to give a statement about the ghost they saw in their hotel room? That ticks at least a few of those boxes…”

“I don’t know, I think it needs to be legitimate. If we _had_ a group of tourists who would come and annoy Elias for us that would be amazing, but…”

Tim shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll just wing it,” he decided.

“Bad idea, Stoker,” Melanie warned.

“It’ll be fine. We’re always right, remember?”

“Whatever. Phase two- while you have Elias distracted, I sneak into his office and go through his stuff to see what I can find. Once I’ve gather significant blackmail material I reorganize his bookshelves, switch out his drawers, and move all his furniture two inches to the left.”

“Diabolical,” Tim laughed. “He won’t know what hit him. Then onto phase three- annoy him throughout the day, basically, just keep him out of where Sasha and Jon are doing their Archivist stuff.”

“You’ve got the fake statements?” she asked.

Tim patted a folder next to him labeled _GHOST, DREAMS, VISIONS AND OTHER SUPERNATURAL OCCURANCES._ “Of course. You brought the spice?”

Melanie rummaged in her bag for a bottle of hot sauce and a container of chili flakes. “All set here.”

“Perfect.” They grinned at each other, twin smiles of utter chaos.

“The time is- 11:30, I say we make our move in fifteen?”

Melanie nodded, getting to her feet with a groan. “May the odds be ever in your favor-” She stuck out her hand and he let her pull him up, “-partner.”

~~~

“Hey, Leo,” Basira called out to the man sitting at the front desk to the police station. He looked up in shock, his face open and easy to read.

“Daisy, Basira, hi! What are you guys doing here? I heard you got sacked or something.”

Beside Basira Daisy rolled her eyes. “Course that’s what the chief would say,” she groused, “Can’t deal with anyone not liking the way he runs this blasted place.”

Basira made a low sound in the back of her throat, warning her. _Be careful, we need him_ , her eyes said. _We’re detectives now._

After some quick digital breaking-and-entering (they had yet to be locked out of the police database permanently) they had discovered a significant amount of chatter around an undisclosed location involving several Sectioned officers.

It wasn’t much, but at least it was something.

Basira led the way over to where Leo Altman was sitting behind the desk, his feet propped up on the wood. “How are you?” she asked, her smile containing the barest hint of a lie.

He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “Exhausted as of right now, but I can’t complain. Some of the other guys have had to take back to back graveyard shifts for the past week.”

Following her lead, Daisy sank back into the role of an undercover detective. “The force shrank since we left?” she asked, innocently probing for information.

“Not quite. All the Section 31 people are being called up for some investigations and those left behind have to cover for them.”

“What’s been going on lately?” Basira kept her face neutral, her posture open. Anyone who was looking at the three of them would not have guessed that more than half the conversation was forced.

“There’s been reports of something strange happening up near Great Yarmouth. People going missing, seeing strange things, the like.”

Daisy spoke derisively, carrying the thread of contempt she was supposedly harboring for their former boss. “So the chief’s called on the Sectioned force to help with disappearances?”

“It’s a bit more than that,” Leo admitted, hesitating for the first time.

“I hope it isn’t anything you guys can’t handle without us,” Basira teased, gently prodding him on.

He laughed. “Appreciate the concern, but I think we’ve more than got it covered. They’ve been running a sting operation, it should be over in the next few days or so. Then I can _finally_ get some sleep,” he moaned, rubbing his eyes.

“Have you been up with them?”

“Not yet, but I think tonight’s my night to swap out for one of the guys,” he answered Daisy, closing his eyes.

“Well, don’t let us distract you!” Basira smiled brightly, her words cheerful. “It was good seeing you, tell the rest of the officers we say hello.”

He nodded. “Did you guys need to talk with the chief or something?” he asked, suddenly growing suspicious. “I mean you surely didn’t come all this way just to check in…”

“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t blow the place up without us,” Daisy chuckled. “Keep up the good work.”

“Will do. Take care of yourselves!” They waved goodbye, walking slowly out of the station.

Once the pair was out of earshot, they turned to each other, eyes wide.

Daisy spoke first, unlocking the car door and sliding into the driver’s seat. “ _Yarmouth_. Why does that sound familiar?”

~~~

Jon closed his eyes, words swimming in front of them. Sasha took a length of red string and ran it from one end of the board to the other, connecting various things they had deemed important.

“I have no idea what any of this really means,” she confessed, tying off one end of the string. “Everything is just so jumbled up in my mind…I feel like we deserve a break. Some fresh air at least.”

He opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off by pulling him to his feet. “Nope, we’re taking a break. We are of no use to Martin if we have puddles for brains.” She prodded him out of the door before he had the chance to disagree.

She was right, of course. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

The light of the hallway was too bright on Jon’s eyes, his head pounding, his throat dry from dust and talking, his heart aching with the absence of someone who made the Institute more bearable. ( _That was it. That was the only reason Jon was- nevermind_.)

A few feet away from the door to the break room, Tim came pelting down the hallway towards them. He skidded to a stop, slightly breathless.

“Hey, guys, you might want to grab whatever it is you need and either hightail it back to the storage room or get out of the hallway. No time to explain,” he waved away their questions, “But _trust me_ on this one- you don’t want to be here in…” Tim checked his watch. “Five minutes.”

Sasha smacked him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, Tim. Come on Jon, I’ve got leftovers. We can eat in your office.”

Jon nodded and followed her, checking over his shoulder as he did so. “Good luck, Tim,” he called to the man walking quickly up the hallway.

He spun around and shot finger guns at them, winking. “You too.”

~~~

Melanie sat, cross-legged, behind the door to the office across the hall from her target. Her breaths were measured and even as she waited for the signal from Tim. Elias was currently sat at his desk, flipping through his binder of budgeting and doom.

Four minutes until it was her time to shine. Four minutes until she was guaranteed at least fifteen precious minutes to screw with Elias as best as she can. Next to her sat a small plastic bag bulging with packages of gummy worms she had convinced Rosie to let her borrow (read: take without paying for) from the vending machine.

_“Just make sure you put it to good use.”_

_“Oh, I will.”_

The key to the vending machine had mysteriously vanished into thin air after she used it.

Melanie tossed a small wax doll from hand to hand. On a whim she had nicked it from Artifact Storage, the figurine faceless and slightly deformed. A faded card read nothing other than ”The Stranger” She grinned, thinking of all the great places she could hide it for Elias to…find…later.

She heard Tim’s bright voice in the hallway. “Hiya, Elias, I was wondering if you had a minute?”

Melanie held her breath, listening carefully to the conversation.

“Yes, come in, Mr. Stoker.”

“Actually, I’ve been kind of cooped up all day. Do you mind coming out into the hallway to talk? We could go outside if you want.”

“No, no, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“It’s about this whole being-tied-to-a-living-building thing. I’ve got a few questions. You said that we can’t kill you, right?”

“Fortunately, no, you can’t kill me without killing yourselves in the most painful way possible.”

“Right, right…so as long as you live, we live as well.”

The sound of footsteps passed Melanie’s hiding place.

“Where is this going, Mr. Stoker?”

“Just bear with me- what if, hypothetically, one of us were to, I don’t know, stay out of trouble and work here forever, could you live forever? What are the limits on that? Is immortality something you could work for, like a benefit for selling your soul or something? Because I was thinking…”

_Time to move._

As soon as the sound of conversation passed her, Melanie ducked out of her hiding spot and into his now abandoned office. She flicked the lights on, shuddering slightly. “This place is _creepy_ ,” she muttered to herself before setting to work.

Moving quickly, she rifled through his desk drawers, searching for anything incriminating or containing possible information.

Paperclips, stationary, pens with broken tips- all pretty standard. Her hands brushed something taped to the top of one of the drawers and she ripped it off without thinking, shoving it into her bag.

Once she had finished searching the desk, Melanie removed the three drawers lining the side of it and replace them in the wrong places, shutting them quietly. She turned to the tall bookshelves covering the back wall and strode forward, running her hands over the spines, pulling books out at random and replacing them upside down, the pages outwards, shoving them in sideways.

Melanie checked her watch. Seven of her precious minutes had slipped by. The computer on the desk chimed softly, alerting her to its presence. Quickly she fiddled with the mouse. “Idiot left it unlocked,” she whispered triumphantly. “ _How stupid can you get?_ ”

An email notification blinked slowly in the right-hand corner and she opened it, delighted to find a lengthy letter from one Peter Lukas to _his starfish_ \- oh stars, was that _Elias?_ \- She hurried and sent a copy of it to Sasha, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Closing the program, she opened the budget spreadsheet Elias had been working on last and changed the numbers to outrageous amounts, throwing the neatly organized columns into red madness.

_Three minutes left._

Melanie ripped open the gummy worms and stood on the chair, her hands dusted with sugar as she poured the bag onto the fan blades. Once she had exhausted her supply of candies, she hopped down, shoved some paper scraps into the keyboard to jam some of the keys.

With a final decisive motion, she shoved all the furniture just enough that Elias would be disoriented when he returned but might not notice in time. Melanie turned around and admired her handiwork, the office looking slightly _off_. 

She flipped off the plague reading _Elias Bouchard_ and turned the lights off, hurrying away as voices reached her ears. _Just in time_.

“Mr. Stoker, I really must insist-“

“Hey, hey, bossman…why don’t you come to eat lunch with me? I can find Melanie as well, we could make a little event of it!”

“Ms. King is- uh, I’m not quite sure…if you would please _let go of me_ , it’s rather off-putting.”

“No, come on, it’ll be fun! A little supernatural coworker bonding can’t hurt, can it?”

“I see I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Very well then. Let’s find Ms. King. She should be- ah, where is she?”

Melanie cleared her throat, counted to ten, then stepped out of the shadows. “Heard you two were talking about me,” she said casually.

Tim’s face was pure relief before shifting back into feigned excitement. “Watermelanie! There you are. I was just saying to the boss here-“ He bumped shoulders with such an air of familiarity that Elias winced. “That we should eat lunch together! Like old times, eh?”

“I’m unaware of what _old times_ you are referring to, Mr. Stoker.”

“That’s a great idea, Tim,” Melanie said, her words laced with venom. “I think it’ll be lovely.” She smiled at Elias, all teeth no emotion.

He swallowed, looking for the first time, _nervous_.

~~~

Sasha swallowed a mouthful of cold curry, not able to concentrate on anything but the statements they were trying to decipher.

“There’s a pattern, I _know_ there is,” Jon groaned, his own food abandoned on the floor next to his knee.

She took a deep breath, clearing her mind. “These are all pretty common fears, right?”

“Right.”

“Think, _think_ …” She swallowed another bite. Jon opened his mouth to speak when Sasha understood, _finally_ , what was going on. She gasped, choking slightly on the food. “Jon, we’ve been so _stupid_ \- the list that Gertrude left, where is it?”

He unfolded the piece of paper and handed it to her. Sasha scanned it hungrily, comprehension dawning in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, his own brain feeling sluggish and far too slow.

“The fears, Jon, the Fears! Throughout all of the statements, there are _fourteen common fears-_ the Dark, the Lonely, the Web, the Flesh-“ she read the list, Jon starting to see what she was on about.

He scribbled the list down on fresh paper, adding the characteristics he and Sasha had noted during their research next to each one.

“They all _control_ , or feed on a certain type of fear. Fire, madness, whatever it is has a, a… patron or something.”

“An entity they serve?” he supplied.

“Yes! An entity. So if we can figure out which entity took Martin, then maybe we can trace it, somehow?”

The fire of discovery dimmed slightly as Jon realized that even with the list narrowed down to one potential cause of Martin’s disappearance, it might take them _ages_ to find him. Time they might not have.

He pushed the thought away, desperately clinging to hope like a man deprived of everything else in the world.

Jon handed Sasha the completed list of entities and their characteristics. She read it under breath, circling things here and there.

“Whatever else, we do know one thing now.” Sasha looked at him, surprised at the strength behind his words. “Elias serves the Eye. Knowledge, being watched, it all fits.”

“Then by extension, so do we,” she said slowly.

He sighed. “Yes, we do.”

~~~

Daisy and Basira pulled into the Institute parking lot, instinctively checking behind them as they walked up the front steps. Rosie looked up as they walked in.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” she said cheerfully. “How was your little research trip?”

“It was fruitful,” Daisy said carefully, not wanting to expose too much. “Hey, did any of the other Archive’s people leave yet?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of. Do be careful down there,” she warned, “Melanie and Tim have something going on and I don’t really want to know what it is.”

Basira smiled. “Thanks for the tip, Rosie.”

The main hall was deserted in the Archives, but the sounds of unnatural conversation floated out of the open door to the break room.

“…and that’s when I said, ‘ _We don’t have enough life jackets!_ ’”

Tim’s hearty guffaw and Melanie’s derisive shriek mingled in the air, an uncertain chuckled joining the mix.

“Hilarious, Mr. Stoker, but I really must be going…”

“Aw, boss, you didn’t even try the chicken and rice I made!”

“Mr. Stoker I couldn’t possibly-“

“ _I insist._ ”

“Very well, then.”

Moments later the sound of coughing erupted, followed by a string of creative curses. Elias stormed out of the room and past the two women, dashing into his office.

Melanie burst out of the room after him, holding back a laugh. “Shh, shh, listen…” she said before either of them could speak, holding up a hand for silence.

Sure enough, more curses exploded from behind the door, punctuated by several loud thuds.

Tim walked over to them, chuckling heartily. “Serves him right. Should we invite him to dinner as well?”

Melanie made a face.

“What was that about?” Basira asked in confusion as they high-fived.

“Just a little bit of sweet, sweet karma.”

“We’ve been making Elias’ life living hell all day,” Melanie supplied. “Broke into his office, gave him spicy food, messed up his stuff, told him he had some _urgent business_ to attend to-“

“Fake ghost stories, conspiracy theories, the like. He won’t be bothering us for a while.” Tim smiled smugly.

“-and I hid a haunted doll somewhere he couldn’t possibly find, let alone reach.”

Daisy whistled. “Remind me never to cross you two.”

~~~

Jon set down his pen, listening intently. “I think I hear Daisy and Basira,” he said softly, pulling the sleeves of the jumper over his aching wrists.

Sasha jumped to her feet. “Let’s go see what they found, shall we?”

“You go, I, I just need a minute, if that’s alright.”

She gave him a look, probably understanding his need for a bit of space at the moment. “Of course. Meet where we had the sleepover during that storm in ten?”

He nodded.

The door shut behind her and the automatic lights flickered off, leaving him in complete, blissful darkness.

_I’m so sorry, Martin. This is all my fault. If I wasn’t so completely useless- I’m sorry. I’m trying. You had nobody except us, we- I won’t fail you. Not this time._

~~~

“You’re back!” Sasha enveloped Daisy in a hug, the other woman freezing for a moment before returning the embrace awkwardly. “How did it go?”

“We have a information,” Basira said.

“So do we,” Melanie added.

Sasha smiled slightly. “Brilliant. Jon and I had a breakthrough as well. Time to spill it all.” She led the way to where Jon was waiting for them, Tim and Melanie sharing looks full of accomplishment and humor.

“Jon, we’ve all got something to share, isn’t that great? We’re closer to finding Martin than ever.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up- you don’t even know what we found yet.”

“Daisy, do you mean to tell me it _isn’t_ helpful?”

“Just saying, don’t bite the bullet.”

They all sat down on the floor, the blankets and pillows still there after all this time. Tim leaned against Sasha, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him.

“Melanie and I pulled off the greatest heist in history,” he announced. “Melanie, tell them what you found.”

She grinned darkly. “I found a bunch of tax forms in his desk that were hidden. I’m not sure what they mean, I’ll have Rosie take a look at them. I also messed up his spreadsheets, rearranged his office, and-“ Her eyes sparkled with dangerous delight as she finished, “-he has a sugar daddy.”

The room exploded into retching and exclamations. “What? Who?”

“Some bloke named Peter Lukas, I think? They might be married, I’m not sure. I managed to send a copy of a very _delicate_ email to Sasha for totally honest purposes.”

“Well done, Melanie, well done!” Sasha laughed softly, running her hand through Tim’s hair in her lap. “Daisy, Basira, anything about Martin?”

The mood shifted at once, the hilarity of Elias’ downfall melting into the very serious reality that was the empty space where Martin should be sitting, laughing and joking with them.

“Something big is happening in Great Yarmouth involving a load of Sectioned officers in the next few days.”

The name rung a bell in Jon’s brain. “Yarmouth, where have I heard that name before?”

Sasha snapped her fingers. “Oh! I got it. That’s the place, the waxy house…?”

“House of Wax,” Basira supplied. “It’s a big hot spot for spooky stuff, apparently.”

“The Stranger,” Jon said quietly.

Melanie gave him a playful nudge. “Speak up, man, we can barely hear you.”

“The Stranger,” he repeated, his voice growing stronger. “That’s where the Stranger makes its home, nest, whatever.”

“And the Stranger is linked to Martin’s disappearance…” Sasha said slowly, connecting the dots.

Tim sat up straight. “That’s where Martin is. It _has_ to be. Daisy, Basira, do you think you could pull a few strings and get us in there? Like tonight or tomorrow?”

Daisy shook her head ruefully. “Sorry, but we don’t exactly have a lot of pull with the force anymore.”

“What we need is an excuse, a reason for why we need to be there,” Sasha mused.

“Like an investigation?” Melanie asked.

“Yeah, sure. But how?”

She grinned. “We need someone who could get us there with no questions asked, a strong alibi, and a decent amount of manpower, correct?”

Sasha nodded.

Jon caught on to what Melanie was saying. “You don’t mean…”

“Yeah, I do. Sasha, I think we know just the guy- woman. Just the woman for the job.”

“Who?” Tim asked, mystified.

“My girlfriend, the one, the only, the fantastic-“

Jon cut in, “Georgie Barker. We need to talk to Georgie Barker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i have been up for almost 21 hours i can hear colors and smell sound so please forgive any mistakes you may have noticed i am so tired  
> if you tell me what you like about this fic i am forever in your debt  
> again, comments if you have the time make me so happy!!!
> 
> a few things- the statue is an artifact of the stranger, an enemy of the Eye. it distracted elias enough that he didn't notice what was really going on  
> *mickey mouse voice* that's a surprise tool that will help us later!  
> and yes, archivist!sasha is amazing and we get partial bits of that trope here. she's just the best!! i love her!! i miss her too...  
> last, peter was the one who taught elias how to swear like a sailor. that's on him.  
> thanks for reading!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon calls an old friend. A plan is hatched. Tim is persuaded out of arson (much to his own regret).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! it has been a while! i literally have nothing to say for myself. excuses? none. head? empty. hotel? trivago. we are nearing the end folks and i am getting that old WIP exhaustion. but i must push forward! i don't want to leave y'all on a cliffhanger, that would be mean. from now on i am going to update when i have the time/energy, so that could range anywhere from multiple updates a week to one every two weeks. i have about four chapters left tho, so don't worry.  
> comments and kudos are literally the only reason i haven't abandoned yet, so if you could do an author a favor and leave some encouragement/constructive criticism/just say hi, that would be GOD-TIER of you!  
> enjoy loves  
> xxx

Jon dialed the number with hands that were not his own, fingers shaking slightly. He pressed the phone to his ear, unsure of whether or not he wanted them to pick up. On one hand, if he was able to talk finally, to have some pretense of connection outside of the awful place he was stuck, things might be a little easier. But that also meant he had to talk, to explain their situation, to say the words that had been haunting him for the past few days.

He was saved from having to figure out what to do if the phone didn’t pick up by a woman’s voice.

“Hello?”

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Hello, Georgie. I’m sorry it’s been a while, something- something happened, it’s been a little crazy lately, I, I, I know I should have called but I just couldn’t…”

“Jon? Are you alright?”

Even through the cheap speakers on his phone, he could hear the obvious concern in his voice. It was overwhelming, achingly familiar. “He’s gone,” he said quietly, staring at the dimly lit room around him.

“What are you talking about? Who’s gone?”

He shook his head mutely, wishing she was there with him. That would make all this _so_ much easier. Remembering that Georgie couldn’t see him, he tried to find the words again, but all he could say was, “He’s gone. He’s gone and it’s all my fault, he’s gone and he could be hurt-“

“Jon,” she broke across him, her voice strong but anxious. “ _Are you safe right now_?”

He smiled a little at that. “Yes, yes, I’m safe, but he-“

“Who? One of your coworkers?”

“Yeah…” A flicker of light flashed onto the wall opposite him, shining from under the door to the deserted office where he sat. “It’s Martin,” he said softly. “Martin’s gone missing.”

There was an audible gasp at the other end of the line. “What do you mean? Was he kidnapped? Is he alright?”

“We went out for drinks a few days ago, he stepped outside to get some air, next thing we know he vanished into thin air. We have pretty concrete proof that there is foul play involved,” he said in a rush. The phone was silent against his ear for a moment, he began to fear that she had hung up on him. “Georgie?”

“Oh, Jon…” she breathed, her voice full of concern and sadness. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. Are the police involved?”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed a little at that. “You know as well as I do that the police are a fat lot of help.”

“True, true,” she conceded. “Did he leave a note or something? Any clues?”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Have you ever heard of the House of Wax, up in Great Yarmouth?”

She made a sound of confusion. “Uh, yeah, a little. It’s come up a few times while I was doing some research for a What the Ghost episode. How come?”

“Do you think,” he swallowed, hard, “do you think you can get us into the building?” 

“Maybe. What does this all have to do with Martin?”

Jon squeezed his phone tighter, closing his eyes. “That’s, uh, that’s where we think- where we _know_ he’s being…held…”

To Georgie’s credit, she did not ask any questions that he would have struggled to answer, saying four words before hanging up, “ _I’m on my way_.”

He stared at the bright screen of his phone for a moment, trying to orient himself with the way the minutes blinked by. A text arrived, startling him for a moment.

**_Georgie_ **

_you’re at the institute right_

_Yes. Do you need the address?_

_yes pls_

_I’ll send it. Thank you._

_of course <3_

Fifteen minutes later, Jon was waiting in the lobby of the Institute, staring out at the darkening street. Tim and Sasha sat on the small couch, keeping vigil with him.

“She should be here soon,” he found himself saying.

Sasha nodded. “It’s lucky you were able to get ahold of her.”

“Yeah, it was,” he said, leaning back against the wall. “We, er, hadn’t spoken for quite a few years, but recently reconnected. A few weeks ago, actually. She helped me with a _problem_ I was having.” Memories flashed through his mind, sitting on the floor of his flat, slightly drunk, sharing a carton of ice cream between them, Georgie listening carefully to his every word, falling asleep on the couch against her, some action movie playing on the TV.

It was a little painful, remembering the past. Remembering every chance he blew, every mistake he made that led to this point. _It can be that way again_ , he thought firmly. _It will be that way again._

“Jon? You okay?”

He shook his head slightly and Tim gave him a look of understanding.

“Yeah, I get it. Stupid question, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no- it’s alright.” Jon blew the air out of his lungs, considering. “It’s just…he had nobody but us, you know? And we failed him.” He spat the words with a venom meant for no one but himself, but Sasha winced.

“Hey, we’ve got this. Don’t sound so hopeless. We _will_ rescue him from whatever avatar decided to be stupid enough to mess with us.”

Tim nodded in agreement. “This Georgie chick- she’ll be able to get us into the building?”

“That’s what she said.”

At that moment, the doors to the Institute opened. Georgie hurried in, shutting the doors against the drizzling rain behind her. “Jon!”

He pushed off the wall and started toward her but hesitated, unsure. An unspoken awkwardness hung in the air between them.

Or, as she wrapped him up in a hug, it was all in his head. As usual.

“I was so worried,” she mumbled into the top of his head, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

He disentangled himself gently, looking up into her soft brown eyes. “As sure as I can be.”

Tim and Sasha walked over, Tim sticking his hand for her to shake. “I’m Tim Stoker,” he said, giving her a blinding smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Jon’s told us _all_ about you.”

She looked at him, surprised. “Really? That doesn’t sound much like him, maybe you lot _are_ a good influence on him.”

Jon protested. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not normally that open. It took quite a lot of convincing and a fair amount of wine to get you to tell me about your crush on-“

He yelped, trying to stem the flood of information. “ _Thank you, Georgie, for keeping that private._ ”

Sasha smiled a little. “Your crush on Martin?”

“How did you-“

“Georgie, you’re right, he didn’t tell us a whole lot- but we do have more than one talented hacker on our side. And,” Tim added to a flustered Jon, “You are more obvious about your feelings than you think.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” he grumbled.

His next words were drowned in a half-shout from the stairwell down to the Archives. “Babe!” Melanie ran over to them and threw her arms around Georgie, kissing her square on the lips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be here so soon?”

She smiled, squeezing Melanie to her side. “Good to see you too, Mels. I thought Jon would have told you…?”

“Nope,” she said, glaring daggers at him.

Sasha defended him, “He’s been a little preoccupied.”

“With what?” Melanie snorted. “Pining?” 

“I have _not_ -“

“Yes,” she spoke over him, shooting him a sympathetic glance.

“If you have forgotten,” he began hotly, “Martin is _missing_.”

Tim held up his hands placatingly. “The man is right for once. We need to get a move on. Georgie, what do you know?”

She shrugged. “Not a whole lot. Martin is missing, something about a wax building? You need me to get on the premises, so I’m assuming it’s probably illegal.”

“Just a little.” Daisy and Basira appeared in the lobby, walking over to where they were huddled. Basira stuck out her hand. “Basira Hussain.”

“Daisy Tonner.”

After the little flurry of introductions, Jon clenching and unclenching his fists anxiously, he spoke again. “Here is the condensed version- Martin was kidnapped by a malevolent fear god, possibly by one of its minions. He is being held captive in the House of Wax in Great Yarmouth. We need an excuse to be on the property as the police are going to get involved soon and create more problems than they are going to solve.”

Georgie nodded in understanding. “I’m with you so far. Eldritch fear gods, kidnapping, no police- What’s the plan?”

Daisy smiled, baring her teeth slightly. “I like this one.”

Melanie glared at her protectively. “Go find your own fearless model girlfriend,” she said in a try-me-I-dare-you voice.

“She’s all yours.”

“Can we focus up, please?” Basira said, slightly exasperated. “We need to come up with a foolproof plan here. No, Tim,” she continued, “We cannot fly in on a _jet_ and pull a Bond-style rescue mission.”

He looked crestfallen. “All I’m saying is that airborne travel is _foolproof_ -“

“We’ll be taking Melanie’s van,” Sasha said to Georgie. “It’s the only car big enough to fit all of us.”

She nodded. “What do we need to do once we’re there?”

“We’re not quite sure yet…” she trailed off, looking around at all of them. “I’m sure between the-“ Sasha did a quick headcount. “-seven of us we can come up with something.”

And so, standing in the lobby of the deserted Institute, they hatched a plan to rescue their friend.

~~~

“…then we all go out for ice cream and celebrate our first, and hopefully last, successful stealth mission.” Tim finished, jazzing his hands in the air.

Basira looked up from her notepad. “You know,” she said slowly, “That might actually work.”

Jon paused his pacing around the room to look at her. “It _has_ to work.”

Georgie put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry,” she consoled him, “We’ve got this. It’s a practically foolproof plan.”

~~~

Piled into the back of Melanie’s Ghost Hunt UK van, Tim, currently sprawled across the floor, asked over the rumbling of the vehicle and the road, “Are you sure we can’t blow it up when we’re done?”

Sasha sighed. “We’ve been through this, Tim. If we blow it up the police will get suspicious. Too risky.”

He pouted. “But just think- us swooping in, Jon a knight in shining armor, saving Martin in a dramatic fashion, taking out the Stranger’s minions left and right, leaving the place in a literal blaze of glory, explosions in the distance…” He spread his hands in the air, picturing it between his open palms. “It would be so cool, Sash.”

Basira rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder where your head’s at, Stoker.”

Choosing to ignore the comment about a knight shining armor, Jon spoke up. “From the way he acts sometimes, you wouldn’t guess it, but he is one of the most capable people I know.”

Tim sat up, grinning. “Aw, you really think that, boss?”

“Hard to argue with the facts,” he said.

From the front seat, Daisy snorted. “ _The facts_? I’m pretty sure I saw him trying to eat yogurt with a fork the other day.”

“We were out of spoons!”

Under the cover of the banter, Georgie leaned into Jon. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged helplessly. “I…don't honestly know? It’s been a _very_ strange few days.”

“I can see that. You know I’m here for you, right?”

He slumped against her side gratefully. “Thank you, Georgie. I don’t know what I would do without-“

Melanie reached over and flicked his shoulder. “Don’t get too cozy with her. You stole my spot, Sims.”

“That’s why I have two hands!” Georgie patted the ground at her side and Melanie slid over to her, tucking her feet under her body and nestling into her girlfriend.

Basira glanced over at them then turned to the front. “Daisy, do you want me to drive?”

“No, we’re almost to the House of Wax.”

At those words all teasing pretenses dropped, everybody going silent. Jon ran over the details of the plan again and again, the weight of Georgie’s arm holding him tight keeping him grounded.

Tim methodically fiddled with the legs of a tripod, extending and shrinking them. He had pulled it from a mess of old equipment Melanie used to film her show.

“How long until we’re there?” Sasha asked.

“About twenty minutes. I’d get ready if I were you.”

“You heard the woman,” Georgie said grimly, shifting to a more upright position.

Pulling on a black hoodie with the words CAMERA printed across it in bold white letters, Tim’s voice was muffled. “Thanks for doing this, Georgie. We know you don’t know him all that well, this is a huge risk for you to take.”

“Don’t remind me,” she teased. “I might get second thoughts. In all seriousness though, I’ve heard a lot about him. He sounds pretty important to you guys.”

They all nodded, Jon not making eye contact with anybody.

“I couldn’t say no, could I?”

“There’s that heart of gold I love.” Melanie tied her short hair back then tossed Sasha a hoodie similar to Tim’s, instead reading SOUND on the back of it.

“It’s dark out there, don’t forget to grab torches,” Daisy called back.

Jon shrugged into a third sweatshirt, his proclaiming him part of the LIGHTING crew. “I can’t believe you had these lying around,” he told Melanie.

She hummed thoughtfully. “Last gig I had like this ended rather fast, didn’t have the heart to throw them out.”

“Lucky for us that you didn’t.” Sasha pulled a small backpack towards her and unzipped it, searching through it for something. “Do you have a first aid kit here somewhere?” she asked Melanie.

She tossed her a small plastic box. “It’s a little bit lacking, but it should be enough to stop bleeding, at least temporarily.”

“Good enough for me.”

Basira watched them get ready with sharp eyes, making sure every detail was perfect. “Stoker, when we get there you need to act professional. Like you belong there but not as the star of the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Sasha, I think there is a sound thingamajig you can pretend to fidget with right here.” She handed her a black apparatus, metal pieces jangling.

“That,” Melanie said, “is a microphone.”

“Thanks for your valuable insight.” Basira rummaged around in the pile of supplies for a moment more before withdrawing a handheld light. “Jon, I think this is for you.”

“Everybody clear on what they are supposed to do?” Georgie asked, taking Melanie’s hand.

They all nodded.

“Alright then. Who’s ready for an extra-special episode of Ghost Hunt UK?”

~~~

“Remember-“ Daisy muttered, handing around small flares, “-we belong here. There is nothing suspicious about us.”

Tim chuckled slightly, drumming his fingers against the baseball bat at his side. “Nothing to see here, just a paranormal investigative team that is armed a normal amount.”

“That’s the spirit,” Basira said, tucking her gun into her waistband.

“What are the flares for?” Jon asked, accepting one from Daisy as she crawled over to him in the back of the van.

“It’ll probably be pretty close quarters so blinding will be pretty effective. Bonus points for, you know, _fire_.”

Tim nodded enthusiastically. “Gotta love a little arson!”

Melanie sighed. “Is it wise to let him come? How do we know he won’t blow up the place? Accidentally, of course.”

“Have more faith in me. I have a high sense of self-preservation, I would never blow the building up. Sure, it would be _fun_ -“

“Tim,” Basira said warningly.

“ _Fine._ You lot can trust me, no explosions for Timellius Stoker today!” He quickly redid the laces on his trainers, double-checking his gear.

Jon looked at him in confusion. “I thought your name was Timothy…”

Sasha mouthed _it is_ at him over his head.

Daisy put a hand on the handle of the back door and looked at them. “Are you ready?” she asked.

They nodded, their faces grim.

“I’ve been wanting to fight someone all day,” Melanie said, tracing the sheath of her knife, “They better not test me.”

“Well then-“ Quietly, she opened the van and hopped out into the velvet night. “-let’s go.”

Before following her lead, Jon took a deep breath, trying to get a hold on his racing heart.

_I refuse to let him become another mystery_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this last line is a variation of one of my favorite tma quotes ("I refuse to become another goddamn mystery.") just so you know! i can't remember who/when it was said, unfortunately, but it sounds like s2 jon exploring the tunnels maybe?  
> anyways!  
> please tell me what y'all think? love you guys!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgie takes the lead. The gang split up. Jon makes a discovery. And maybe, just maybe, Martin finds hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is UP people of ao3! i am HERE i am QUEER and suspiciously lacking EXISTENTIAL FEAR!  
> shoutout to my amazing beta pigeon, idk what i would do without them. love you!  
> please please please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed! that's literally the reason i was able to finish this chapter is bc people have been soooo nice and supportive.  
> enjoy!  
> xxx

Daisy lead the way toward the House, Basira covering her from behind. The building itself wasn’t _strange_ strange but it certainly wasn’t normal. Nothing about it screamed _paranormal clown cult_. Just four mismatched stories, cutting a peculiar figure in the otherwise deserted area. Windows seemed slightly lopsided, tilted a few inches to one side or the other, the path to the front entrance paved with gravel colored in dull candy stripes.

Jon fidgeted with the handle of his torch, finding he didn’t need to turn it on to see. The others seemed to look to him for an example and followed suit, creeping the few hundred yards up to the base of the path in darkness.

None of them spoke, their breathing suddenly sounding too loud and _human_ in the clinical air. Jon cataloged it all almost feverishly, tucking his tongue behind his teeth, trying to keep himself from making a sound.

_There are no insects around, or at least if there are, they are silent. Daisy is breathing fast but not out of fear. Sasha is twisting a ring around her middle finger and has been for the last four minutes. Tim is still angry but now he can do something about it; he is gently tapping the handle of his bat. Every other step Georgie takes is louder than the other. Basira is nervous about something, something more than Martin…_

_I am here. I am here and so is he. I am alive and as long as I breathe I will fight to get him back._

Sasha threw out an arm to stop him from knocking into her. She raised a finger to her lips and pointed to where Basira was crouched, inspecting the ground for something.

Basira rubbed her fingers together, the dirt floating away into the darkness, unseen. She motioned for the others to join her.

“Someone’s been here recently. Most likely police, Altman said they’ve had this place staked out for a while now,” she said quietly.

Tim quickly scanned the area around them. “So what do we do?”

“Stick to the plan,” Daisy grunted. “No need to get cold feet over a few meddling fools.”

Melanie grinned crookedly. “Oh yeah, ACAB all the way.”

“What does-“

“Later, boss,” Tim said quickly. “We can educate you _after_ we rescue Martin.”

Georgie nodded in agreement. “For now, we need to focus on getting in. Melanie, you know what to do. Daisy, is there anybody around?”

The former detective nodded. “It’s likely. The cops won’t do anything to stop us at first, they might blow their cover over some harmless civilians. Stay in character, everyone, and we’ll be fine.”

“You heard the woman.” Almost effortlessly, Georgie took charge, quietly directing everyone and giving them instructions. “Sasha, you’re with Daisy and Basira. If caught, you lot act like you are scoping potential haunts on the other side of the building.”

“What exactly,” Basira asked hesitantly, “are we investigating?”

“The ghost of the Great Grimaldi,” Tim supplied. “If anybody asks, hypothetically.”

“What he said. Now, you and Jon will be with Melanie and I.” Georgie tossed him the empty camera bag. “Just follow our lead and act like tech crew.”

Jon found himself nodding along, not even remotely surprised at her ability to lead them all. It just _fit_ , somehow, that it felt like she belonged with them, hunting down monsters and sneaking into buildings under the nose of the law enforcement.

“Everybody clear on what to do?” she asked.

“Hypothetically again, what if everything goes to hell once we get inside? We have no idea what’s waiting for us,” Sasha said, tapping the end of one of her flares, “and we are virtually unarmed.”

“If everything goes according to plan, whatever is inside will be to disoriented to do anything,” Daisy began.

Jon spoke up. “She has a point. A fair amount of our information has been gathered from simple deductions and knowledge of the past, so I’m fairly confident in its accuracy, but we can’t know definitively.”

“Are you sure?” Melanie asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, don’t we serve the entity of knowledge or some tosh? We’ve been so focused on what _they_ might be able to do, but don’t forget- we aren’t powerless either.” Melanie rocked slightly on her heels, uncomfortable with the amount of attention she suddenly had. “I mean, that’s got to count for something, right?”

Jon blinked, a little bit shocked. “I hadn’t…thought of it that way before. I suppose you have a point, but what are we supposed to do? _Know_ them to death or something?”

She shrugged. “No idea, Mr. Head Archivist. That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“But how-“ he began hotly, trying to defend the suddenly apparent hole in their logic.

“We’ll figure it out,” Daisy said. “Best case scenario, we won’t need to test the limits or even the existence of said eldritch powers.”

“And worst case?” Tim asked, sounding like he regretted mentioning it already.

She grinned at him sharply, “Well, we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

“I _believe_ the phrase is-“

Georgie interrupted him. “You can have your intellectual debates about whether or not blending idioms is a cultural norm _later_. Martin is inside that building, maybe injured. Are you going to rescue him or not?”

Jon sobered abruptly. “Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to derail the conversation.”

Daisy waved his apology aside. “Doesn’t matter now, but thank you. To set off the flare just hit the base of it on the ground then back away, these things are extremely powerful. I think that covers everything?” 

They all nodded, their faces illuminated hauntingly by the moon overhead, the House of Wax looming larger than ever in front of them.

“Then I believe-“ Daisy broke out of their little huddle, backing toward the building slowly, “-that we should go.”

Through a flurry of murmured _see you in a bit_ ’s and last whispered words, Jon felt his own fear twining its way up his throat, watered by anger, loss, and frustration. _They were going to save Martin. Martin was going to be okay. They were all going to be **okay**_.

~~~

Open one of the doors quietly. Don’t make a sound. Follow the path of Georgie’s light into the stairwell. Let Basira lead the other women down the hall and out of sight. Keep an eye on the doorways they passed, scanning for any sign of life (or death- _no don’t think like that_ ). The hair on the back of his arms tingled, every nerve on alert.

“Well, this place is creepy as hell,” Melanie whispered, tracing patterns in the dust covering the sign outside of the door at the end of their hallway. Faded letters read _Enter! Find yourself in the Hall of Discovery!_

Georgie turned back and forth, searching the place for something, _anything_ , that would lead them to Martin. “It sure is,” she agreed. “But I don’t think we have a choice.”

Tim tightened his grip on the bat and pushed open the door. It swung inward with a creak that sounded like musical laughter if the throat that made the noise was made of sawdust and broken glass.

Jon caught his breath as colored lights, reminding him of wandering, lost, through a carnival, flashed and bounced around the room in front of them.

_Room_ wasn’t the right word for it. That implied walls, a finite end to the chaos, but this _place_ was liminal, infinite and twisting.

“It’s a funhouse,” Tim said quietly, his face backlit by an endless cycle of yellow-red-orange-green-blue-yellow-red-orange-green-blue-yellow. “A hall of mirrors.”

Melanie looked from Georgie’s resolved expression to Tim’s sudden fear to Jon’s apprehension. “Come on, let’s just get through it. He’s probably in the middle of the mirror maze, right? Or on the other side? If we just…keep going, we’re bound to find him.”

Even to Jon’s desperate ears, her words sounded feeble, but what choice did they have? Turn back because they were _afraid_? Not an option anymore. “Let’s go,” he said firmly. “Try not to get separated; stay quiet unless absolutely necessary.”

He pushed toward the door and took a hesitant step when Georgie voiced the very thought that had just popped into his head.

“Hey, where is everybody? I thought this was supposed to be some haunted clown cult or something. Did we get the wrong address?”

Tim huffed. “Yeah, this is the wrong House of Wax, my bad, they must have meant the one in Soho- of _course_ this is the right place.”

“Then why are they hiding?” Melanie wondered.

Jon sighed and stepped into the room.

“Hello! The Stranger Welcomes You Here!” A cheery voice echoed from somewhere, bright and clear through the sudden chaos of carnival music turning on and the lights’ frenzied flickering. Jon stumbled, disoriented, and had to close his eyes for a moment.

“We Hope You Find Who You Are Looking For! Is This Self-Discovery? Have You Lost Yourself? Why, Just Look Into The Mirror, They Never Lie, And Find Out Who You Are!” the voice continued, it’s words cheerful yet ominous.

When Jon opened his eyes again, the door he had come through had vanished. “Georgie? Melanie?” he called, disregarding his own admonition to stay silent. “Where are you?”

But his words were drowned out by that same, hauntingly excited voice. “We Are Happy To Help You Find Your Identity! Forget Who You Were, You Can Be The Best You Can Be Soon! Get To The Center Of The Maze, What You Seek Is Hidden There!”

_Maze. Of course_. Jon tried to steady himself on a nearby mirror but found himself falling once more. “Can’t even trust your own eyes,” he muttered. “Tim?” he tried again, shouting the name for all he was worth.

“I’m right here.”

“Tim! Oh thank the stars, something’s gone terribly wrong-“ Jon reached out, trying to grab Tim’s wrist, but banged into another mirror again. “Where are you?”

The mirror-Tim shifted and vanished, reappearing in front of him. “Right here. Can you see me?”

“Yes, I, I can, but is it you? Or just a mirror?” Desperate, he reached out again but froze before he could test the apparition. Jon caught sight of himself, twisted and blown in strange proportions, his head stretched cartoonishly, his eyes multiplying around his body. “Tim! **Is that you?** ”

A hand closed around his wrist and he nearly jumped out of his skin, wincing as the lights flashed a garish neon red, turning everything around him the color of blood and rubies. “I’m here,” Tim said, pulling Jon upright. “But I wasn’t a moment ago…it was strange. I was _inside_ the mirror somehow- whatever you do, avoid touching the mirrors for too long.”

“Yes, yes. Did you see where Melanie and Georgie went?” Jon tried to hide his relief at Tim’s presence, focusing on the one thing he knew was real.

“You Are Abandoned, Archivist! We Have Taken What Little You Love, Come And Find It!”

Tim glanced up at the ceiling. “Well, this is annoying. I don’t know where they went, but we should keep moving. I saw _something_ over that way,” he gestured behind him, “and I really don’t want to find out what it is.”

Jon nodded, keeping a hold on Tim, the other hand sweaty around a flare. “Let’s keep moving. Always go forward in a maze, right? Is that the rule?”

“I think it’s always turn left, but this place seems to break every rule I know. Just follow my lead.”

Together they bumped and stumbled around mirrors and flashing lights, trying to block out the now-blaring carousel music and the occasional announcement from overhead.

“His Time Is Running Out!”

_Another dead end._

“Keep Trying! You’ll Either Fail Or Die Eventually, What’s The Point Of Giving Up?”

_Separated around the corner, Tim’s garbled reflection his only company. Find him find him find him-_

“Oh, I Wouldn’t Do That If I Were You!”

_Break all the mirrors, fight the reflection to find him_.

Laughter bounced around the room as Jon spun in a circle, the sound of Tim stumbling just barely loud enough to be heard over the speaker. He raised his bleeding fist again, ready to shatter another mirror, when-

“Ouch! Boss, why’d you hit me?”

Jon grabbed Tim’s arm. “Don’t want to lose you again,” he hissed through aching teeth.

“Alright, alright, I won’t leave you- I think we’re nearly there. We have to be, don’t we?” Tim’s eyes locked on a spot over Jon’s shoulder, his face going pale in the flashing light. “ _Give me your flare_.”

Confused, Jon handed it to him. Tim thrust his bat into his hands, setting his mouth in a determined line. “That _thing_ is right over there. I’ll take care of it, you need to go. _Now._ ”

“What are you- I’m not leaving you! I can’t lose you too,” Jon said desperately as Tim pushed him forward. “I can’t do this again!”

“You won’t,” he promised. “I’ll meet you when this is all over. Go!”

Helpless, Jon took a few steps forward, looking over his shoulder to see Tim advancing toward the figure creeping out from behind the broken mirror. Tim spread his hands, looking almost friendly, inviting.

He shook his head, trying to focus, then suddenly he knew where to go. Almost as if the map of the impossible place they were in had been fed directly into his brain, Jon dodged around mirrors, trick doors, taking the most direct path to the center of the maze.

As he ran he saw himself reflected in a hundred different ways, each of his imperfections and scars and shortcomings magnified and thrown back in his face.

“You Are Doomed To Fail! No One Ever Escapes The I-Do-Not-Know-You! You Will Die Alone, Archivist, And I Will-“

_There_. A gap in the funhouse reflections, the place he had been heading toward right in front of him. Jon dove through the opening.

He found himself in an entirely different sort of environment, clinical white walls and ceiling brightly lit, the room silent and vast. He turned, seeing the chaotic maze still behind him. Jon didn’t have the time to contemplate the impossibility of the situation, he took a deep breath and shouted. “Martin! Martin, are you in here?”

He held what little oxygen he could inside his lungs, not daring to breathe for fear of missing the answering sound. He almost did miss the quiet whimper from the far corner of the room, it was so small and pained.

“Martin! Is that you?” He broke into a run, heading to the distant corner. Jon could see a dark shape huddled there, slumped against the wall, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too late-

“Jon?” The figure raised its head as Jon approached, its eyes half-closed.

“Martin,” he breathed, a balloon expanding inside his chest. “I’m here.”

He dropped to his knees beside Martin, roughly grabbing his shoulders. “Jon, is that you?” he asked, his voice beaten and bruised.

“Yes, Martin, it’s me, we came for you.” Jon couldn’t help himself, he collapsed forward and wrapped his arms around him, pressing every apology and promise of safety into the hug. He drew back when Martin gasped audibly, wincing. “Are you alright?” he asked desperately.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but- you shouldn’t be here. They want your skin too, Jon.” Martin looked into his eyes, desperate. “You need to leave. They’ll be here soon.”

“Who? What are you talking about?” Jon looked down at Martin’s arms and swore. “You are not _fine_ , Martin- you’re bleeding! What happened?”

Martin’s skin was traced with red lines, shallow cuts that divided his body. Fresh blood dripped down his wrist from when Jon had crushed him into a hug, the wounds not even barely healed.

“It doesn’t matter, I don’t matter, you don’t need to worry about me-“

Jon cut him off frantically. “ _Listen to me_ : you matter. So much. Martin Blackwood, you _matter_. I’ve been worried sick while you’ve been trapped here. You are going to be okay; we will get out of this alive.”

“You don’t understand.” Martin closed his eyes. “It’s already too late. I’m done for, now They’re going to get you too.”

“Who? Who are you talking about?”

Martin didn’t get the chance to answer. A plastic hand clamped onto Jon’s shoulder, pulling him to his feet with a force that should have been impossible.

“It’s So Nice To Finally Meet You, Archivist!”

In front of him stood a mannequin made of the same material as the walls of the room they were in. Jon registered a smile sharp enough slice through metal without a sound before he was dropped back to the floor.

“Who are you?” he asked, shuffling backward until he felt Martin beside him.

“Why, I Am Nikola Orsinov, The Ringmaster!” Nikola tilted their head sideways, surveying him. “Archivist, What Have You Done To Your Skin?”

Jon looked down at his hands. They were covered with blood and bits of glass, old scars spiraling up and down his body, injuries he hadn’t thought about for years suddenly blaring with pain once more.

“It’s Ruined!” they complained. “We’ll Have To Find Another Use For You, I’m Afraid.”

“What are you talking about? Use for what?” Jon ran his hand over his skin, worried for some irrational reason that he wasn’t _enough_ , he was worthless, useless, something else to be discarded.

“I told you,” Martin hissed weakly, “They want our skin.”

“Mr. Blackwood Has Been Kind Enough To Donate His Skin To Our Cause And You Will Do The Same!” they exclaimed brightly, advancing toward him. “With It, We Will Bring The World Back To Life, Renewed!”

Their voice wormed its way into Jon’s brain, bright red poison, and curled around his brain. _Just give up_ , it tried to tell him. _I have you in my claws and you will not escape._

Should he? Should he just give in?

_No._

Losing Martin, worrying nonstop about whether or now he would see him again, discovering his life was tied to that of his evil boss’, having to leave Tim behind in the horror-maze, seeing Martin bleeding and broken on the floor, and now having this _thing_ threaten to skin him?

Jon had had enough. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he said, sudden dangerous confidence flooding through his veins. He saw his bat out of the corner of his eye, but he knew he wouldn’t need it.

Nikola faltered. “Bold, You Say? You Dare Call Me Bold When You’ve Broken Into My Domain And Threatened To Steal My Prize?”

“He is not your prize,” Jon said angrily. “He is Martin Blackwood and he will not be giving you his skin.”

“Oh, Is That So?”

Martin groaned from beside him. “Leave me, get out while you can…”

“No,” he said quietly. “No, I won’t. This thing is _pathetic_ , it can’t even keep us out.”

“Pathetic?” Nikola said, sounding dangerously surprised. “Not As Pathetic As Your Little Friend Out There When I Ate His Life…”

“Tim,” he breathed.

They smiled. “That’s The One. He Served A Valiant Cause. Now, If You’re Done Talking, I Think It’s Time-“

“ _NO_!” Jon thundered, feeling a thousand volts of fear and anger flooding him. He stood, feeling more powerful than at any other time in his life. “It’s your turn to listen, Orsinov. You have kidnapped, beaten, killed my friends, desperate for a morsel of fear for your _pathetic_ god because you are too weak to serve in any other way. You have resorted to desperate measures, trying to prolong your meaningless existence, but it’s all come to nothing- _this is where it ends_.”

They took a step backward. “What Are You Doing? Stop It! Stop Looking At Me!” they whined, throwing their arms up over their shining face.

“There is more suffering in the world than you can ever know. The horror, the pain, the _fear_ is overwhelming and over it all, the Watcher drinks it all in,” Jon continued, not knowing where the words were coming from but letting them flow regardless, “You are but a drop in the ocean. You are insignificant, unimportant, everything you have come to detest. But still, you _cling_ to this semblance of life, drawing out the deaths and torture of many. _Now, it’s your turn_.”

Jon stared at them, that power flowing out of his body and focusing on the mannequin in front of him. “Ceaseless Watcher,” he growled, “Turn your gaze upon this wretched _thing_.”

With a shriek like a broken radio, Nikola Orsinov fell to their knees. “No! Stop It! Mercy, Please!”

“Mercy?” Jon scoffed, feeling a strange sense of vindication. “I don’t grant mercy to those who hurt my friends.”

A final howl and they were gone.

“Jon, what was that?”

Startled, he turned around and remembered- “Martin!” He sank to his knees beside him once more, laying a tentative hand on his knee. “Are you okay?”

Martin shifted into an upright position, staring at Jon with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. “I’m fine, are you? What just happened?”

Jon looked at his feet, suddenly self-conscious. “I, uh, I’m fine. I don’t actually know, it’s been a weird few days. You know when everything is just so weird you think _well, this might as well happen?_ Yeah…”

Martin shook his head, a small smile breaking across his face. “They’re gone,” he said quietly.

“Yes. They can’t hurt you anymore.” Jon’s eyes traced over his body, following the path of the cuts. A second wave of anger crashed over him when he realized the pattern they were making: the same pattern used on animals before skinning and slaughtering, the best way to utilize every bit of flesh and skin. “ _Not anymore_ ,” he whispered.

Martin’s face suddenly paled and he pointed to the entrance to their little oasis. “Jon, who’s that-“

He turned to see a figure stumbling toward them. It had none of the awkward grace of Orsinov, its gait entirely human. “Jon! Martin!”

“Tim,” he shouted, relief sweet on his tongue.

The man stumbled over to them, the remains of a flare clutched in his hands. “Hey there!” he said brightly. “Long time, no see, Marto!” Tim dropped to his knees and hugged him, hard.

“Whoa, whoa, careful Tim,” Martin laughed, his eyes overflowing with tears. “Watch the leg, please.”

“Your wha- oh, sorry.” He drew back, sheepish, as Martin readjusted the angle of his leg, his ankle swollen.

“It’s good to see you too,” he said. “I can’t believe you guys came for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jon said, offended, “We would never leave you behind.”

“I know, I know…You don’t know how awful it’s been here, all alone, I was starting to think-“ He broke off, tears sliding down his cheeks.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Jon said gently, “We’re here now.” He took Martin’s hand gingerly, squeezing it reassuringly. Martin smiled through his tears, sniffing slightly.

“What happened to you?” he asked Tim. “Orsinov said you were dead.”

Tim grinned. “It’ll take more than a little explosion to take out Stoker the Survivalist! I blinded that thing with a flare, then it ran off and I couldn’t see you anymore. A few minutes ago everything sort of…came back to normal? And I was able to find you two.”

“They must have been the source of power for this place,” Jon realized. “Without them, things will probably start to collapse and fall apart. We need to get out of here, _now_.”

“But Martin-“

“I can walk if you two help me,” he said determinedly.

“Sasha has first aid,” Tim said, getting to his feet.

Martin broke into a smile. “Sasha? She’s here?”

“And Daisy and Melanie and Basira And Georgie.”

He shook his head in wonder. “All for me?”

Jon squeezed his hand again. “Of course. Let’s get you home, Martin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder- if you hate yourself and you're gay that's homophobia b*tch and you WILL be canceled
> 
> if you tell me your favorite line/part i am legally obligated to tell you you are in possession of my soul


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the A&E ends in a way Jon was not expecting (but is he upset? not really)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all i know is write fanfiction, hyperfixate, have crippling self-doubt, eat hot chip and cry  
> please let me know what you think! any and ALL feedback (but especially positive! i like validation!) is welcome  
> enjoy!  
> xxx

The lights of the A&E burned into Jon’s eyes, reminding him of his lack of sleep. The room seemed to spin ever so slightly, the edges of his vision not quite _there_. He rubbed at his face with a hand, shifting in the hard plastic chair. The adrenaline of the past day ebbed away to reveal pure exhaustion. The relief of finding Martin, alive and- well, not unharmed, but _alive_.

It’s everything he’s hoped for and it _terrifies_ him. The presence of both his feelings and the person they are directed at is overwhelming; for a delirious moment, he considered leaving. But then he remembered the way Martin looked at him in the House of Wax, eyes full of hope and something _more_. Jon remembered his promises, made to himself and his friends.

It’s too late now, he is absolutely smitten with someone who is way out of his league, and there is nothing Jon can do.

Well, there is one thing, but it seems a little bit drastic. He could always-

“Jon?”

He looked up to see Martin hovering awkwardly at his shoulder, a few bandages peeking out from beneath his ragged jumper.

Jon rubbed his eyes, seeing, for just a moment, Martin waiting at his desk to ask him a question, the same nervous anticipation fluttering across his face, twisting his hands together. It was such a painful similarity he had to shake the thought away. “Martin, they patched you all up? What did the doctors say? Any infection or long-term effects? I told Basira we should have come here directly but she didn’t listen-“

He laughed softly, wincing as he did so. “Jon, slow down. I’m fine. Well,” he paused, rubbing his arm gently, “Not exactly fine? But I’ll live.”

Jon let out a breath he had been holding for days. “That’s a relief. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.” Immediately, he went bright red, realizing what he had said. “I, I, I mean- I’m supposed to be able to keep you safe- _not what I meant_ \- you’re very important to-“ He broke off, looking at Martin’s barely restrained giggle, and made a sudden, life-changing decision, “You know what? I’ll just shut up now.” He got to his feet, trying to stamp some feeling back into his legs.

“Well, you do that,” he said, smiling. The brightness in his eyes was so _different_ from the defeated man Jon had found in that horrible place. There was no outward change; he hadn’t even had a chance to wash up properly in _days_ , but something hopeful was slowly replacing the fear. “And I don’t think I can say this enough- thank you, Jon, for rescuing me.”

He waved it aside. “It’s nothing, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“It’s not _nothing_ , you broke into a fear-house and broke through Orsinov’s little maze to find me, you all cared so much, I’m not sure I can ever repay you.” Martin looked up at the ceiling, his eyes watering a little from pain and emotion.

“You don’t have to worry about it, but if you’re serious about repayment, I know where to start.” Jon pulled his phone out of his pocket, swiping it open.

“Anything,” he said, truly meaning it.

“First, we need to get you a shower and some clean clothes, I’d imagine you feel terrible right now. Then some rest, quite a lot of it, actually.” Jon didn’t look at him while he spoke, finding it easier to force love and compassion onto the man without making eye contact. “Food is a definite must, then I’m going to beat Elias’ skinny rat-looking arse somewhere into next week-“

Martin looked torn somewhere between protesting that he was fine (he was most definitely _not_ fine), amusement at Jon’s sudden outburst, and badly-hidden exhaustion. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly, copying him and staring around the empty waiting room. “I’ll be okay.”

Jon rolled his eyes, exasperated. “That’s my line,” he said, starting to lead the way toward the doors, beyond which the neon darkness of 2 a.m. glowed. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience, at the very least let somebody take care of you.”

He didn’t move, looking serious. “You need to go home and sleep too, Jon. I’ll take the tube home. See you at work tomorrow, yeah?”

“ _See you_ -“ At that Jon whirled around, surprised. “Martin. _Listen to me_. You _will_ be going home and cleaning up. You _will_ eat a good meal. You _will_ take care of yourself, mentally and physically. And you most definitely will _not_ be coming in to work tomorrow!” He took a deep breath, looking up at Martin.

“Fine, whatever you want, _boss_ ,” he teased.

“Thank you,” Jon said primly. “Now, shall we head out? I think the tube should still be running, even at this hour. But should we stop somewhere and grab you some food? You must be starving.”

Martin shifted on his feet. “Yeah, I guess I am, but I’m more tired than anything.”

“How about…” Jon bit his lip, hesitating. Something very dangerous teetered on the tip of his tongue, something that could come back and burn him if he swallowed wrong.

“What?” he prompted gently, the only sound the clinical noises of the hospital. Somewhere, a machine was beeping.

“You could come back to my flat if you want,” he said in a rush, trying to get the words out before he regretted them.

Martin froze, a look of shock on his face.

“I mean if you don’t that’s fine!” Jon hurried to erase his mistake. I can help you get back to your flat, it was a stupid idea anyway, just forget I asked.”

He put a hand on Jon’s arm, stopping his apologies. “That sounds great,” he said firmly. “I kind of don’t want to be alone right now,” he added in a near-whisper.

Jon relaxed visibly. “Oh! Oh, okay, uh, let’s go, then, I don’t live very far away from here.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Martin looked unsure as he followed Jon out into the night.

“You won’t be imposing,” he reassured. “It’s really no bother to me.”

The air was cold and crisp, cooling his burning cheeks as Martin looked at him with the softest smile.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully.

~~~

Jon had made a severe mistake. With Martin at his side, he fumbled with his house key, trying not to think about _Martin in his flat_ and failing. After far too long he managed to unlock the door.

“Come on in,” he said, hurriedly sweeping up several discarded pairs of shoes. “You can sit down if you like, you’re probably pretty tired, and staying on your feet can’t be good for that ankle or your wounds.” He dumped them in a closet, quickly straightening up his flat.

“That sounds lovely.” Martin hobbled over to the couch and sat down with a relieved sigh. He propped his ankle up after taking off his shoes. “You don’t need to do that,” he called to Jon, who was busy trying to hide all evidence of his dysfunctional lifestyle.

“I should have thought about this first,” he said, trying to shut the closet door, “My apologies. I haven’t had the most, er, _stable_ , past few days.”

“Jon,” Martin said firmly, “Please don’t. It’s been a long day. I feel like I could pass out right here, actually.”

He resisted the urge to groan at his lack of forethought. “I’ll order takeout right now, you need some food-”

“That sounds really nice.”

“-do you want to use my shower?” He hesitated, not knowing if this was pushing some unknown boundary.

Jon could see him shake his head from the kitchen where he was stacking dishes in the sink.

“Not really,” Martin said, “Doctor said to avoid full contact with water for a little bit, at least until some of the nastier cuts get their stitches out. Don’t really want to stand, either, but thank you for offering.”

He stepped across a now-clean kitchen, coming to sit on the couch across from Martin. “Of course,” he said warmly. “If there is anything I can get you, _please_ don’t hesitate to ask.” _I hate seeing you like this_ , he almost added.

“Actually, there is something…I left my meds by the door, could you grab them for me? And maybe a glass of water as well.”

Jon was up before he had even finished his sentence, grabbing the small orange pill bottle from the entryway table. He poured a cup of water quickly, grabbing an apple from the table after a moment's hesitation. “Here.” He handed them to Martin, who took them gratefully.

“Thank you.” He gulped down a few pills, closing his eyes.

Jon let his gaze linger for a moment longer than he should have, tracing the pattern of his freckles across his cheeks, trying to memorize every detail he thought he wouldn’t see again.

Martin opened his eyes, catching his gaze. His face turned slightly pink, but he smiled.

Fifteen minutes later, with a steaming plastic container of curry in each of their laps, Martin asked a question.

“So I feel like I missed something,” he said, in between bites of curry. “What was that place? How did you find me? What were Sasha, Daisy, and Basira doing while you and Tim rescued me? And who was that other woman with you?”

Jon laughed a little, swallowing his food. “I thought you might have some questions, I’ll do my best to answer them quickly. That was the House of Wax, the base of operations for the Stranger.”

“The Stranger?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you don’t know. How do I put this…” He took another bite, savoring the warmth of it in his stomach. “Every one of those statements back at the Institute that has some little kernel of truth in them can be organized into one of fourteen fear-archetypes. Fear of the dark, heights, spiders, things like that, but more complicated and nuanced fears like fear of going mad, manipulation, or losing someone close to you.”

Martin nodded thoughtfully. “I think I’m following. So where was I?”

Jon blushed again, not looking him in the eye. “The last one. The Stranger, the I-Do-Not-Know-You, the Circus, call it what you like.”

“Alright. And the others?”

Jon tapped his chin with the handle of his fork. “Elias is, as we suspected all along, a supreme bastard but in more than one way. He was in on your _abduction_ but accidentally let something slip.”

Martin looked at him in surprise. “Elias? How could he-?”

He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t know. That’s a story for another day, I think. The girls were exploring the basement while Melanie, Tim, Georgie- my ex-girlfriend, a ghosthunter- and I looked for you upstairs. I think that covers everything?”

Martin looked at his hands, a little disappointed in _something_. “I- yeah, it is.”

Jon scooped up the last bit of curry then stood, taking Martin’s bowl out of his hands. “We can worry about dishes tomorrow, let’s turn in now,” he said gently. “I can get you a rag so you can clean up a little bit if you want. I’m not saying you smell bad- I just mean that it’s probably been-“

Martin laughed a little. “I know what you mean. And that would be lovely.”

Jon let the tension leave his shoulders at the sound. “O-kay, I’ll be right back.”

He set the dishes down in the sink and grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, taking a moment to gather himself. _Get a hold of yourself, Sims,_ he told the mirror sternly. _Take care of Martin, leave your feelings out of it._

~~~

“Just out of curiosity,” Martin said, “Why do you have so many blankets?” His hair was still slightly damp from the sink-bath he’d taken while Jon got bedding ready, wearing one of Jon’s old oversized shirts (that he stole from Georgie) and a pair of ill-fitting joggers. His old clothes had been torn and bloodied, no point in trying to salvage them, and Jon was trying to ignore the sliver of pale stomach that was currently exposed. His thoughts were struggling away from him rapidly.

“I get cold easily and I like the weight of them,” he said simply, handing him a clean pillow and a stack of blankets.

Martin shrugged. “Fair enough. Well, goodnight, Jon, thank you for letting me stay here.” He walked back up the hall to the couch in the living room.

He had insisted on taking the couch.

Jon wanted to say something, to reach out, to take his hand and tell him everything would be okay, but he didn’t. He let him go with a sigh, turning back to his room. “Goodnight,” he called.

His bed was a disheveled mess and soon his day-clothes joined the pile in the corner of the room designated to the unlikely possibility of laundry day. Jon pulled on a sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, sliding into bed without brushing his teeth or hair.

The night had been tugging at his bones for several days now and he finally succumbed to sleep, whatever it may bring.

~~~

Jon woke a few hours later with a start, his windows still dark. He lay still for a moment, trying to see what had woken him when he heard a sound from the living room. It sounded like a soft, pained whimper, a small cry, it sounded like-

“ _Martin_.”

He hurried out of the room, ready to fend off attackers, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then his gaze fell on Martin’s still-sleeping form, and he realized what was happening.

Martin was laying on the couch, his face wrinkled in fear at some unseen invader, trapped in the grips of a nightmare. Jon fell to his knees beside him, tracing his shoulder with a light touch, trying to wake him.

“Martin. _Martin_ , it’s okay. I’m right here, you’re having a dream.” He squeezed Martin’s hand, hating how right it felt.

“ _…no, stop, I’ll do anything, please…_ ”

“Martin, wake up!” he said in a hushed shout.

He woke with a start, shooting straight up, a blanket clinging to his sweaty form. “Wh- Jon? What happened?”

“You had a nightmare.” Jon let go of his hand quickly. “I heard you talking in your sleep and I thought…” He trailed off at the look on Martin’s face.

“Can I-“ He opened his arms and Jon hugged him, squeezing him tight. Martin buried his face in his hair, his body still shaking a little. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “They were here again.”

He didn’t need to ask who _they_ were. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I just…felt so powerless. I couldn’t stop them. It was all my fault and I couldn’t stop them-“

Jon pulled back, his face furrowed in concern. “Hey, it’s not your fault. None of this is. If you say that one more time, I might have to do something drastic.”

Martin’s shoulders shook and he buried his face in his hands, hiding a half-sob, half-laugh. “Like what?”

_Like kiss you_. “I, I don’t know,” Jon covered. “How about we go back to bed?”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep again.”

“Come sleep with me,” he said.

Martin looked up at him, surprised. “I thought you-“

“ _No,_ not like that! I mean just to sleep. You might not have any more nightmares? If it makes you uncomfortable, don’t worry, I can grab you a fresh blanket, one that’s not as hot.” Jon squeezed his hands in his lap, leaning against the back of the couch.

Martin stared at him for a moment, trying to see if he was joking or not. “Yeah, alright, that sounds…quite nice, actually. Not being out here.”

Jon turned his head, looking up at him through his lashes. “Yeah?” He stood and pulled Martin to his feet. “Let’s go to bed, then.”

And really, what could he mess up with something as simple as sleeping in the same bed as-

_Oh, Jon, what have you done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had something to say then i had a crisis and i can't remember so uhhhhhh i love you guys? does that work?  
> hm quarantine depression my old nemesis


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a thought. For once. The boys communicate. For once. Georgie threatens Jon with death (only once, which is a first).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are getting so close folks! here comes the comfort part of the hurt/comfort and boyyyy is this chapter a doozy. catch me projecting on BOTH of these idiots not just once but for an entire CHAPTER! once again i want to say thank you for all your support i could not do it without your comments. that being said, please continue to leave comments/kudos as they really fuel my soul! please enjoy today's chapter!  
> xxx

_Hyperreality, the inability to distinguish between consciousness from simulated realities. Vivid colors, complex conversations, easily remembered details, and even physical sensations are hallmarks of hyperreality, often occurring in dreams and nightmares. It can occur as a side effect of hallucinogenic substances, high stress, or a larger brain condition that would require medical diagnosis-_

Jon opened his eyes, abruptly arriving in the current plane of reality. He didn’t move, just lay still for a moment, trying to catalog each and every one of the sensations he was currently experiencing.

Opening his eyes seemed to have done the trick, the inner stream of medical terminology coming from _somewhere_ outside his brain cut off, leaving only the world _hyperreality_ bouncing around his mind.

Something warm surrounded him, keeping him present. Jon turned his head and-

Yep. He was _definitely_ dreaming. What was that word again? Hyperreality? He felt like he was floating away now, carried on a stream of dreams and hopes and an undercurrent of distrust. How could this be real? How would he be allowed to have this? To have Martin scooping him close, holding him tight in bandaged arms, looking so peaceful in his sleep _right next to him_?

This was just some absurd stress dream. Yes, that was it, after the tension of the past few days he had _finally_ cracked. The soft cocoon was going to be stolen from him any moment now by the beeping of his alarm, by the rattle of morning life outside his window, by the sounds of Martin in the next room, waking from a peaceful nights sleep that most definitely did not end like, well, _this._

It was, however, warm. Jon’s dreams normally were not this kind to him so he let the illusion continue and closed his eyes again, hoping against hope for some miracle to let it stay that way.

~~~

When he woke again the first thing he registered was cold air against his face. The next thing he realized was there was a _man_ sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.

_Oh._

_Oh no._

“Martin?” he croaked.

Martin jumped at the sound of his voice. “Jon! G-good morning, how did you sleep?”

He sat up, stretching like a cat, his joints popping. “Better than I have in years,” he yawned, catching a glimpse of the other man’s blush through half-closed eyes.

“Haha, yeah, you must have been pretty tired…”

He couldn’t find the energy to argue and explain, to say _no, actually, I haven’t felt this safe for a very long time and you are very warm,_ so he settled for groaning a little and gently tugging Martin back onto the bed.

He complied with a startled huff as Jon collapsed into his side again, burying his face in his shirt. “Oh, hello there,” he laughed, almost hysterically. “Comfy?”

“Mhm. You’re warm,” he said, his voice muffled by the fabric. A little voice in his head whispered erratically, warning him about scaring off the lovely man by his side, of employee/boss relationship protocol, telling him to keep his distance or else.

Another, louder one told him to seize comfort where he could and hold those he cared about close.

Martin shifted, leaning back against the headboard. His hand fluttered nervously to Jon’s arm, almost-but-not-quite brushing his skin. He sighed.

“S’matter?” he asked. He could feel him shake his head. Jon pulled back to look into his eyes, searching. “Do you want me to get the painkillers? Is it something wrong?”

Martin laughed, a little defeated. “No, Jon, I’m fine- actually, I’m better than fine. But that’s the problem.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see what you’re talking about,” he said slowly.

“No,” he sighed, “You wouldn’t. It’s just-“ Martin gestured at the pair of them, cuddled in Jon’s old clothes and tangled in sheets. “- _this_.”

Understanding hit Jon like a freight train exploding in one of those cheesy action movies. “Ah, of course, my bad, I shouldn’t have assumed.” He shifted slightly so he was no longer using Martin’s solid chest as a pillow, silently cursing himself. _Idiot idiot you know you couldn’t have this you knew you knew-_

“What? No! That’s not what I mean!”

“Well, Martin,” he said a little sharply, “You’re going to need to explain the issue.”

Martin groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. “….no. You know what? I can’t do this anymore. No more games, no more getting my hopes up, no more dreams. I’m going to go back to my apartment. Thank you for letting me stay the night, Jon,” he said flatly, standing up.

The blankets fell to the floor with a soft thump, and with it, Jon felt his heart break again. “O-of course. Anytime.”

He took one last look at Jon’s face. “ _You are not allowed to look like that_ ,” he whispered to himself, turning to the door.

“Like what?” he asked in spite of himself, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Like you _bloody_ care!” Martin snapped. “Not after everything that’s happened, I can’t deal with this too. You’ve made it clear where we stand and that’s _fine_ , everything’s _fine_ , but I can’t lose you too. I don’t want to mess this up, Jon! So please,” His voice faded to a gentle murmur, all his energy spent in the outburst. “Just…don't. Don’t look at me like that, you don’t have any right- no idea what that does to me.”

Jon watched this happen, his mind struggling to keep up with the quick flipping of Martin’s demeanor. One moment he’s letting himself be taken care of, the next he’s angry at Jon _for_ caring- he doesn’t know what to think.

So without thinking, he says quietly. “I’m _sorry_ if that offends you, Martin, but my being in love with you is _none_ of your concern and quite frankly, it seems we have more important things to worry about than- Martin? Are you alright?”

For the man had frozen, an incomprehensible look on his face. “What did you say?”

“I said we have to worry about bigger things than- _oh_.” Jon broke off with a pained noise, somewhere between a helpless laugh and a whimper. “That’s not how I was supposed to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Martin sat back down on the bed, looking terrified.

Jon fidgeted with his pillowcase, refusing to look him in the eye. “That I- that I love you, Martin. I have for some time now.” _Why am I telling you this I shouldn’t be speaking oh good heavens please stop talking you’re ruining **everything**_ **.**

He felt Martin’s soft hands cup his face and tilt his chin upward. “Where you ever going to tell me?” he asked helplessly, not knowing what else to say.

“I-“ It was impossible for Jon to think with him this close, his hands so gentle on his cheeks, his gaze flicking between his impossibly beautiful eyes and his lips-

“You absolute _idiot_ , Jonathon Sims.”

He was about to ask what he had done this time when Martin leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his mouth and his brain promptly short-circuited. Jon raised his hands to squeeze Martin’s wrists, leaning into the kiss with his entire body, his whole heart, hoping he could taste the dreams on Jon’s lips.

Martin pulled back and he made a small noise of discontent, trying to chase his mouth with his own. “I love you too, Jon.”

Martin leaned back down and kissed him again, laughing and crying and smiling at once.

It was a beautiful feeling, something that, if woven into a fabric, would feel like silk against skin.

Something vibrated under Jon’s leg and he jumped, breaking the kiss. He kept a hold of one of Martin’s hands, fumbling around with the other to find his phone, the screen lit with an endless screen of messages.

**_Georgie_ ** _(46 messages)_

_jon i swear if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed again i Will Haunt You_

**_Georgie_ ** _(missed call)_

**_Georgie_ ** _(missed call)_

**_Timothy_ ** _**Stoker** (4 messages)_

_at this point i’m assuming ur either dead or with marto so be nice to him or i will steal ur kneecaps_

**_Timothy Stoker_ ** _(missed call)_

**_Sasha_ ** _**James** (voice mail)_

**_Sasha_ ** _**James** (missed call)_

**_Sasha_ ** _**James** (1 message)_

_Jon, where are you?_

He swore, swiping open the screen.

“What is it?” Martin asked.

“Sorry, sorry, I forgot to tell the others where we went, I think they’re a little worried.” Jon showed him the screen and his eyes went wide at the red numbers on the home screen.

“A little worried??”

Jon laughed a little. “Yes, I suppose that is an understatement. I’ll call Georgie and let her know, you’ll stay here? And we can talk about…everything…when I’m done?”

Martin squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Of course. Call Georgie, I’ll be here.”

Jon paused for a moment, considering the miracle that had just happened, then quickly kissed him on the cheek before dialing her number.

Georgie picked up on the second ring; her voice almost broke the speakers. Martin winced visibly as Jon almost dropped the phone. 

“ _Jonathan Edgar Sims you just WAIT until I get my hands on you! I thought you were dead! You can’t just drop off the grid like that, I was so worried-_ “

“Sorry! I am so sorry Georgie, I mean to call you, I really did, but…” He trailed off, looking over at Martin, wearing _his_ clothes, sitting on _his_ bed, holding _his_ hand.

Her laugh filled his ear, warm and teasing. “ _You got distracted._ ”

Jon swallowed drily. “Uh, yeah, I did.”

“ _What do you have to say for yourself?_ ”

“Um, I’m sorry?”

“ _Much better. And?”_

“I won’t do it again?”

“ _You bet you won’t._ ” He heard a muffled noise in the background. “ _What was that, Mel? Jon, Melanie says to tell you that unless you’ve sorted everything out with Mah-tin_ -“ She said the word in a silly imitation of Jon’s accent and he chuckled. “ _-she’s going to strangle you alive._ ”

“Well, tell her not to worry.”

Georgie squealed. “ _Jon! Look at you! My emotionally repressed child has grown up and confessed his very gay feelings for his very sweet coworker after an eternity of pining!_ ”

“Shh, not so loud!” Jon looked over at Martin who was trying not to laugh. “Look, tell the others I’m sorry, will you? Tim and Sasha have been texting me and I’m at least 90% sure that Basira and Daisy will find and hunt me for sport soon, but I _really_ don’t want to talk to them right now.”

“ _Of course. You go kiss your boyfriend.”_

“He’s not my-!”

“ _Bye, love!_ ”

She hung up, leaving Jon staring shellshocked at the black screen.

“Well, how did that go?” Martin asked, obviously holding back a smile.

Jon groaned and fell back against him, his eyes fluttering shut. “Better than I had hoped. Only two death threats, and only one of them from Georgie herself.”

“Is that…good?”

“Considering our history, yes, I would say that’s very good.”

He could hear the smile in Martin’s voice. “Cool, cool, I’ll just file that away to ask you about later.”

“What? ‘ _Ask Jon about his violent past’_?”

“Yep, exactly!” Martin leaned back, shuffling lower so he was laying down on the bed, his arms folded behind his chest, Jon curled against his side. “So…”

“ _So…_ what?” he hummed in response.

He chuckled. “You said you were in love with me?”

“Oh, yeah, that…Um, yes? I suppose I did?”

“Okay, just making sure.”

Jon folded in on himself, his voice shrinking. “And you’re okay with that?”

Martin sat up. “Are you joking? You _do_ remember the part where I told you I loved you as well? And kissed you? I’ve uh…kind of been in love with you for an unfortunately long time.”

Jon felt his cheeks burn. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this.”

“Don’t apologize.” Martin smiled at him, warming a part of himself he didn’t know was cold.

Something nagged at the back of his mind, something important he needed to tell Martin before he let himself get carried away. Jon sat up as well, crossing his legs and facing Martin. “There’s something else I need to tell you,” he said slowly. Martin looked at him expectantly. “There are certain parts of a relationship that I…don’t particularly enjoy.”

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

Jon fumbled around for the right words, struggling to find a way to say what he needed to. “I mean- sex. I don’t do sex, or anything of that sort, and I’m sorry if that’s a deal-breaker but it’s something I’m not willing to compromise on.” He sat there, feeling intensely vulnerable, waiting for the immediate rejection.

It didn’t come. What he did hear, instead, was Martin’s relieved sigh. “Oh, that? I already knew, and I’m fine with it.”

“Wh-what? You aren’t going to…try and change my mind or something?”

Martin looked shocked. “No! Why would I? If that’s something you are uncomfortable doing, I’m not going to push it. That’s something entirely up to you, you have the right to say no.”

“But it doesn’t bother you?”

He scratched his neck. “I mean, not really? It’s not terrible for me, but it’s not something I _need_ in order to be happy or whatever. What I do need is for _you_ to be happy, Jon, and as long as that’s something we are clear on, then I’ll be fine.”

Jon had to blink back tears at that. The simple conviction behind his words wrapped him in a cocoon of warmth and relief, telling him this might just work out. Overcome with a surge of emotion he wrapped Martin in a hug, squeezing him tight, pressing all the words he couldn’t say into the embrace. “ _Thank you_ ,” he whispered.

“Of course. You don’t need to be afraid of who you are.” Martin hugged him back, resting his chin on his head.

They stayed that way for a while, holding each other and the simple truth that they were both oh so deeply in love and at peace.

Jon’s phone rang again and he answered it without checking the caller ID. “Hello?” he said, feeling Martin’s arms tighten around his shoulders as he shifted.

“ _Jon, it’s Basira. You need to come to the Institute. Now_.”

“Why? What happened? Is something wrong?” 

He heard a long breath filter into the speaker. “ _Not…exactly. Just come see for yourself. Bring Martin, too._ ”

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She hung up without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm an archive-of-our-ownist and comments are to me what statements are to jon


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Jon hold hands. A lot. That's basically the whole chapter. Elias is...well, you'll have to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to post this tonight but i couldn't wait! i love this chapter a lot and am super happy with how it turned out, please let me know what you think! only one chapter left guys...can you believe it? please enjoy a hearty dosage of fluff and found family from your grateful author!  
> xxx

Martin’s hand fit perfectly in Jon’s. There was something about it, about how humans seemed built just to _hold_ each other so carefully, how the ones you love fit like they belonged against your skin, that if he wasn’t careful he might find himself writing poetry.

When he was around Martin, most things read like poetry. He wondered if that was how it felt to walk on sunshine, teetering dangerously on the side of overconfident, over-trusting. Jon still didn’t know if he was allowed to have this, if this was going to be the story he had dreamed of since he was a child with skinned knees.

Then Martin looked at him. Then he smiled. Then Jon felt his stomach unknot itself in butterflies and honey kisses.

He squeezed his hand tighter and leaned into the warmth of Martin’s body, the train swaying beneath them. It was fitting somehow, matching the dreamlike feeling that hadn’t left yet.

“What do you think we’ll find when we get back to the Institute?” He rubbed little circles into the back of his palm as he spoke.

Jon sat up a little in the cheaply upholstered seat, considering. It was so bloody _difficult_ to think with the gentle caresses like sunshine against his skin. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, “Basira didn’t say a lot. She’s like that.”

He hummed. “It feels like everything has changed.”

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, “A lot’s different. But it’s for the better, right?”

“Of course.” Martin wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders, comforting.

They spoke in hushed whispers, not wanting to bother the morning commuters. It felt private, a story they shared with nobody but themselves, a secret that would dissolve in the air.

“You’ll like Basira. And Daisy. They’ll like you too. Well, I’m not actually sure Daisy likes anyone but Basira.” Jon laughed a little and nestled into his touch.

“I’m sure with enough signature Martin K. Blackwood tea, they’ll come around.”

“I don’t know,” Jon said quietly, “It might take a _lot_ of tea.”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” Martin smiled.

“Yes,” he said, “I suppose it did.” Jon brought their joined hands up to his mouth and kissed Martin’s knuckles.

Martin blushed and he thought the whole world should wear a shade of red like his, just to match the beauty of it. But then it wouldn’t be his, anymore, it wouldn’t be the color that he painted across Martin’s cheeks.

So he decided to hold it close to his heart and memorize each shade of the man he loved.

~~~

Jon found himself questioning reality more often than was normal, he realized, as they walked into the morning light, a few people with smaller minds staring at their joined hands.

It just didn’t seem like it _should_ be happening. Jon had messed up too many things lately, made too many mistakes it just felt like this should have failed too. But no, he was fine, he was _better_ than fine, and Martin was holding _his hand_ and he was smiling and the sun was warm on his skin.

Too soon, they reached the imposing building housing the Archives. Martin swallowed, shifting on his feet before the steps. “Shall we?”

“Out of the frying pan, into the fire,” Jon muttered, letting go of Martin’s hand.

Walking into the Institute felt… _wrong_ , somehow. He wasn’t afraid, exactly, more apprehensive than anything, but normally he was either fearful or unhappy as he climbed the few steps.

So to open the doors on a sunny morning, hand in hand with _Martin Blackwood_ of all people, his chest light and a small smile on his lips- Jon could not bring himself to acquaint his notion of the Institute and the Archives with a version of himself that was happy, for once.

It felt like a jigsaw piece that fit into the slot it was supposed to, but the colors didn’t line up, a leaf out of sync with the rest of the tree.

Rosie looked up from her desk as the pair walked in. “Martin!” she half-shouted, standing from her chair and hurrying over to greet them. “Oh my goodness, love, you had us _quite_ worried. Are you alright? What happened? Oh, I’m _so_ glad to see you again.” Without waiting for an answer she hugged Martin. “I was worried,” she repeated.

He winced slightly as she collided with him. “Hey, Rosie, it’s good to see you too. I was…lost, for a while, but I’m back now.” He sucked in a sharp breath as she tightened her hold on him.

Rosie pulled back, looking worried. “Are you hurt?”

Martin smiled tightly. “Nothing major. Some scrapes and bruises, twisted my ankle.”

She turned to Jon, her expression stern. “Now listen to me, Jonathan-“ He registered the use of his full name apprehensively. “-you are going to take this man down the elevator, not the _stairs_ , mind you, and make sure he stays off his feet. Knowing our Martin he’ll be wanting to help anywhere he can. Do not, I repeat, _do not let him._ If he hurts himself worse I _will_ use you a new doormat, you hear me?”

Jon blinked. “Uh, of course, Rosie, wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”

She smiled sweetly at him as if she hadn’t just threatened his life. “Lovely. Now, off to the elevator with you, the Archives lot are waiting for you two.”

 _Some kinds of fear can be quite effective,_ Jon thought as they waved goodbye. _Efficient, too_.

“I don’t trust the elevator,” Martin muttered as they stepped into the rickety contraption. “I feel like we’re gonna fall or something.”

“We won’t,” he said automatically.

“Are you sure?”

Jon laughed. “I won’t let it.”

The doors rolled open hesitantly, almost mournfully letting them out into the dimly lit hall of the Archives.

“D’you think they’re here?” Martin asked anxiously.

Jon peered into a few of the rooms they passed. No lights were on under doors, the ones that were open were empty. “Basira said to meet them here. I’m sure they’re just…somewhere else.”

Something, though, was _wrong_. He could feel it. Twisting in his gut, something was out of place, missing, perhaps. It didn’t feel entirely malicious, just off. He thought he could smell something strange in the air, a faint memory of the seaside, the scent of waves and fish.

“Tim? Sasha?” Martin raised his voice, the sound echoing around the place strangely.

Jon realized one thing as he walked down the hall, running a hand against the wall. _He didn't feel watched_. No eyes felt like they were boring into the back of his neck, he didn't feel the need to check over his shoulder for somebody, he felt like he could have danced a jig and no one would be any the wiser.

Except for Martin, of course. Which was why he would /not/ be dancing. Dancing was an activity best reserved for alcohol-hazed nights and empty kitchens at three in the morning.

"Do you hear that?" Jon stopped walking, straining his ears to hear the faint sound again.

Martin looked around, a little nervously. "Yeah, I did. Do you think we-"

He was interrupted by a loud screech, an utterly inhuman sound, that seemed to be coming from Artifact storage. He looked over at Jon but surprisingly did not seem afraid. "Hang on," he said slowly, "I know that sound..."

The doors burst open and Tim and Sasha ran out, making unholy amounts of noise.

"Martin!" they shouted in unison, almost knocking him off his feet with the force of their hugs.

He laughed and wrapped his arms around them, a little awkward as Tim was taller than him and Sasha was trying to envelop him like some sort of bizarre starfish, but he made it work. "Whoa there, be careful of the leg- it's good to see you guys."

Tim pulled back, squeezing his shoulders. "Marto, we missed you so much. I am _so_ _sorry_ that happened to you. Are you alright? Did Jon take good care of you?" He was so preoccupied with making sure that Martin was safe and sound he missed the sound Jon made, blushing.

"I’m okay, I guess, definitely been better but I'll live. A-and yeah, he did..." The way Martin trailed off sounded more like a question in and of itself.

Sasha squeezed him tighter, still burying her face in his neck. "I was so worried," she said softly, sounding so small. "I didn't know if we would see you again."

Jon swore he heard her sniff.

Martin rubbed her back gently, comfortingly. "Hey, it's okay, Sasha, I'm here now. Thank you for all the work you put into finding me, I know that must have been hard-"

She punched him on the shoulder, careful not to hurt him but enough to shut him up. "You absolute _idiot_ ," she groaned, "Don't you get it? It was all for you. We would have done it a thousand times over, just to make sure we got you back safe."

Jon watched this all silently, not sure what he would have said if he could speak. Something stupidly sappy, of course, which is why it was better that he kept silent.

Tim noticed him standing there. "Bossman! Good to see you as well, of course, you and Martin just sort of...vanished, after we dropped you off at the A&E. Had us worried there for a moment."

"I apologize," he said stiffly as Tim wrapped him in a hug as well. "Ahem. I believe Basira said something had happened and we needed to come at once?"

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Of course she did."

"So...did nothing happen?" Martin sounded ridiculously hopeful.

"I mean it's definitely _something_ but I think it's the good kind. Here, come with us, you'll have to see for yourself." Sasha took Martin's hand and tugged them down the hall to-

"Elias's office? What are we doing here?" Jon noticed a thin layer of dust coating the empty desk.

Somebody coughed. "Good to see you too, Sims."

Martin sunk into one of the chairs opposite the desk with a groan, waving hello to the three women already standing in the office. "Hello, you lot."

“Good to have you back, Martin.” Basira smiled, a rare sight as the past few days had been so grim.

“What’s this all about?” Jon asked, staring around the office.

Instead of answering, Daisy handed him a piece of paper. It was a handwritten letter. The handwriting seemed pained like it had taken great effort to force the words out. It read:

_To whom it may concern-_

_Elias Bouchard, former head of the Magnus Institute for Paranormal Investigations, London, has been forcibly retired. The details of the running of the Institute he once loved will be attached._

_I regret to inform you that he will be taking an extended vacation to reconnect with a few people, including himself. He most likely will not be returning. The sea is always a good place to find yourself. It’s no use trying to contact us, although I very much doubt that you will try._

_No one outside the Archives is aware of this turn of events. I leave it up to you to decide when and how to share the information._

_May our paths never cross._

_Peter Lukas_

Jon read the letter several times, his head spinning. Finally, he looked up at the grim faces around him. “ _Forcibly retired_ …” he said slowly. “What do you think that means?”

Sasha shook her head. “No idea. I’m not sure how to feel about this. It just seems a little odd, you know?”

Melanie slid down to the floor and crossed her legs, looking bored. “I think you’re reading too much into it. From where I’m standing, it sounds like this Lukas person is one of the people Elias has to-“ She smirked. “- _reconnect_ with, if you know what I mean.”

“Isn’t Peter Lukas the guy who-“ Martin began but Tim jumped to finish the sentence. 

“Oh! I know who he is! He’s Elias’s sugar daddy!”

Jon choked; Basira looked up in confusion. “I’m pretty sure you mean the Lukas family have donated _generously_ to the Institute for the past several decades.”

She quirked her mouth to the side, considering. “You know what, that does sound a little suspicious. Tim, you’re probably right.”

Sasha pulled out her phone and seemed to be typing something rapidly. “Yeah, apparently the Lukases and the Bouchards go _way back_ \- ew, that’s disgusting. You don’t want to know, but Tim’s right.”

“What did you find?” Daisy asked.

“Among other things, seven sets of marriage certificates and divorce papers.”

Martin gawked at her. “They’ve been married- _seven times_?”

“And subsequently divorced.” Tim laughed and hopped up to sit on the desk, grinning. “I knew Elias was doing something, I just didn’t think…”

“He’d be doing a _sea captain_ ,” Sasha finished, looking slightly queasy and handing her phone to Tim. “There are _pictures_.”

They all crowded around the phone to see except for Jon, who flipped the letter over. On the back of it was an official-looking document full of fancy legal phrases such as _ownership ad hoc, animus possidendi rights,_ and _non bona fide supremacy._ It swirled together in his brain, but the final lines stood out to him.

_I, Elias Bouchard, being of sound mind and current body, do hereby transfer the responsibility and all entailed duties of running the Magnus Institute to one Jonathan Sims, current Head Archivist, and do remind him, not in a fit of sentimentality, but out of practical necessity, that this position is ad infinitum._

_Good luck, Jon. Keep an eye out._

He swallowed, his throat dry. _What did all this mean_? He handed the letter to Sasha, wordlessly telling her to read it.

She looked up at him, confused. “Ad infinitum? What’s the old bugger on about?”

Basira stepped over and took the document from her, quickly scanning it. “Well, Jon,” she said grimly, “It seems like you’ve got a raise.”

“But I don’t want-“

“Everything here is legally binding, I’m afraid.” She shook her head. “Ad infinitum…that sounds familiar…Daisy! What does this mean?”

Daisy looked up from where she and Melanie were swiping through whatever incriminating photos Sasha had managed to find. “To infinity, or to continue forever.”

Martin, who had heard the whole conversation, looked worried. “Why…you know what?” He clapped his hands together, startling them all. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that _Elias Bouchard, royal bastard of the Magnus Institute, has been forcibly retired_!”

The room erupted into cheers, even Jon cracking a smile through his discontent.

“And what,” Tim pretended to bow in front of Jon, “is your first decree as head of the Institute?”

“Give Rosie a raise,” he said without even having to think. Sasha whooped. Jon swallowed, realizing something. “And,” he said slowly, tentatively, “Terminate all of your contracts. You are free to leave, now.”

Dead silence.

He heard his heartbeat thumping in his ears. _Why was he so nervous? It was only fair, they didn’t want to work here any more than he did, but he could at least give them an out, even if he couldn’t leave._

_They would be safer somewhere else._

He didn’t meet Martin’s eyes.

After far too long, Melanie raised a hand. “Uh, Jon, in the politest way possible, what the _bloody hell_?”

“I think I can do that now,” Jon said quietly. “You aren’t stuck here anymore.”

Tim burst out laughing. “Are you _serious_ right now? You think we’d leave?”

Sasha joined him, smiling. “You’d blow the place up in a week without us! We all know I’m the most qualified here, no offense, but a sexist little pig decided to pass me over for a job. I’m not complaining, but seriously, Jon, do you think you could do this without me? Without us?”

Jon felt his eyes burn unexpectedly. “I just thought you might like to leave.”

“Well, mate, it’s been an interesting first week on the job, but I can tell you this-“ Daisy clapped a hand on his shoulder, startling him. “I still want to work here. Between you lot and the _spooky_ stuff, it seems way more interesting than any other boring desk job.”

Basira nodded in agreement.

“You want to stay?” Jon asked again, surprised. He just hadn’t thought…

Martin stood and crossed over to him. “Yes,” he said softly, kissing him on the cheek. “More than anything.”

He blushed, wrapping an arm around Martin’s waist.

Tim looked from him to Jon, putting two and two together. “Hang on,” he said excitedly, “Hang on, did it happen? It happened! Sasha, stop the clock!”

Laughing, Sasha, pulled a stopwatch out of _somewhere_ and hit the stop button.

“You two are together, aren’t you?” Tim crowed.

Martin nodded, a little embarrassed.

“Congratulations,” Melanie groaned, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“What is that?” Jon asked Sasha, confused.

“I can’t even remember what when we started this…” she said, laughing. “But it has taken you-“ She consulted the small device. “One thousand, nine hundred forty-four hours, sixteen minutes, and forty-two seconds to fully realize your feelings for each other AND act on them. Well done, lads, it only was half an eternity of waiting for us.”

With that, she hopped out of her chair and pulled Tim with her, heading out of the office. “Gone to go give Rosie and the others the news!” she called.

“I’ll tell them Elias quit,” he said.

Daisy, Basira, and Melanie followed them, not eager to stay in a room with the new couple.

“That was…” Jon said once the room was finally empty. “Revelatory.”

Martin chuckled. “Yeah, it was. What did she say? One thousand, seven hundred hours, or something? What’s that in days?”

“Eighty-one,” he said immediately. “Wait, you had feelings for me for _eighty_ _days_ and I didn’t realize it?”

“I think it might have been a bit longer than that,” he muttered.

Jon gaped at him. “That- wow. Uh, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Martin pulled him into a quick kiss. “It was worth it.”

Jon leaned against his chest, feeling safer than he had for a very long time. “Elias isn’t gone for good,” he said quietly. “He’ll be back.”

“I know,” Martin said. He could feel the vibrations of the words in his chest. “But you forgot one thing. _We’ll be here when he does_.”

Jon stretched up to kiss him again. “I love you,” he whispered between kisses.

“I love you too.”

_Good luck, Jon. Keep an eye out._

~~~

“Rosie! You’ll never guess what happened.”

The secretary looked up from her computer as the gaggle of assistants, led by Sasha, approached her desk. “Martin’s finally snapped and gone completely feral on Elias?” she said hopefully.

“Not quite,” Tim grinned. “Even better.”

She faked a gasp. “How could such a thing be possible?” They all shared a knowing look. “What’s going on? Nothing bad, I hope.”

Melanie cackled. “Oh no, you’ll like this one. Do you remember seeing a big man, probably dressed like a pirate or something, come in here earlier?”

“Yes,” Rosie said slowly, “I think so. Elias was with him,” she realized, “He didn’t look happy.”

“Well,” Basira said, “It looks like _dear Elias_ is taking an _extended vacation_.” She handed the letter to Rosie for her to read.

It didn’t take long for her to finish and look up at them, an expression of shocked excitement on her face. “Is this some sort of joke?” she asked cautiously.

“Nope,” Tim said, leaning against the desk. “It’s legit.”

“Rosie, Elias Bouchard no longer runs the Magnus Institute,” Sasha exclaimed.

The shriek of pure joy and happiness that was echoed around the Institute that day by many a mistreated worker was heard by all of London.

Perhaps it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, one must revere the elderly, respect those in positions of power- but as Elias was none of those things, nobody had any qualms about venting in quite frankly very _creative_ streams of profanity. One thing was made abundantly clear, however. Most shared Martin’s sentiments on the matter.

Elias might not truly be gone, but if he returned to the Institute, he had better pick a god and pray hard enough to cushion his fall from grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> full disclaimer i used wikipedia legal terms for this don't @ me if they're wrong i spent five minutes researching!!! i don't know how to use them and i'm banking on the fact that none of you are law students.  
> if you are a lawyer my sincerest apologies from a high school fanfic author.  
> oh! and the last line is based on a tumblr shitpost, "Pick a god and pray." can't remember the source but thought i should just put that out there.  
> what was your favorite part?


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did- did we do it? is this the end of the fic? a finished WIP? IT IS!!! this is the final chapter lads, lassies, neither, both, or in-between! i can't believe how much i've been able to grow throughout this fic and it's been a blast to write. y'all have been so supportive and wonderful, i could not have done this without you guys. i'll say more at the end, but for now i do have a suggestion- you may want to go back and do a quick re-read of the earlier chapters (i would say 1-12/13 ish) just to brush up, OR ELSE this chapter might not land the way i would like it to.  
> enjoy the final update from "just a little cliche"!  
> xxx

_Three months later._

Jon paused after walking into the lobby of the Institute to brush water droplets from his sleeves, shivering slightly. The torrential downpour outside hammered against the windows, making him forever grateful that he had brought an umbrella, small as it was.

Martin was always reminding him to after he had forgotten and caught a cold after a rainstorm drenched him on the way home from work.

“Hello, Rosie,” he said, passing her desk. She smiled and waved at him, on the phone with some snobby uptight donor who had a complaint to lodge. Rosie made a soothing noise into the phone, trying to calm them.

“I’m so sorry that happened, Mx. Geistman, I’ll make it up to you as best I can. Now, where do you work? Hm, I’ve never heard of it, but I will try to send a small invoice as compensation. We do offer a month of free therapy- but only for Institute related affairs. Yes, I’m aware your parents left you while you were young. Oh, having your father threaten to eat you sounds absolutely _terrible._ Where shall I send the card? The void of space…”  
Her voice trailed away as Jon made his way down to the Archives. Now, _technically_ , he was the head of the Institute as a whole, not the Archives, but he kept his office down there and allowed Rosie and her team to do most of the _actual_ business required.

As much as it pained him to admit it, he was simply not qualified to run the place. A few baffled lawyers had explained to him that he was unable to quit the position, muttering something about trickster gods and pretentious pricks.

Rosie did a much better job than he would have, anyway. Jon was simply the figurehead, the puppet, but for once he didn’t mind.

He was torn out of his thoughts by a shout from the breakroom. Jon stepped inside, surprised his coworkers were already there.

Tim sat in one of the plastic chairs, slapping his thighs rhythmically as Melanie wound up to-

“Are you lot throwing knives in here?” he asked, baffled.

“No,” Tim said.

“Yes,” said Melanie and Sasha together. Sasha stood against the wall, looking utterly at peace with a knife quivering in the wall beside her.

“Basira, Daisy, you two are supposed to keep them from killing each other,” he groaned as the two women smirked.

“No, boss, I think that’s _your_ job,” Tim laughed.

Jon crossed his arms in a weak imitation of his former uptight self. “Sasha, as much faith as I have in Melanie’s knife skills, I do not have the energy to hire another Head Archivist.”

“Aww, you love me.”

He couldn’t keep a smile off his face. “No, I hate the hiring process.”

“Just have Rosie do it,” Martin suggested. Jon jumped, realizing he was standing next to the door. “Hello, love.”

Jon crossed over to him and kissed him on the cheek in response, utterly losing whatever footing he had gained by pretending to be disapproving of Melanie and Sasha’s antics.

“Okay, fine, just don’t kill each other, alright? And don’t ruin the walls too badly, they’re quite flimsy. I can’t believe you’re justifying Sasha being _stabbed_ ,” he huffed.

Martin smiled as Melanie turned around and hurled the knife with deadly accuracy, landing it inches above Sasha’s shoulder.

“Where did they even get knives?” Jon muttered as Martin wrapped an arm around his waist.

He chuckled. “No idea. Think it’s better not to ask.”

“That sounds about right.”

A few more throws later, Sasha grew bored with their game. “Nice skills, Mel, I’m impressed,” she said. “But I’m afraid it’s time to get to work, gang. What monsters will we find today?”

“You sound way too cheerful,” Tim said dolefully, getting to his feet.

Martin kissed the top of Jon’s head again and the whole room groaned and pretended to vomit.

“Is this _allowed_?” Daisy asked, gesturing at the point of them.

“It shouldn’t be,” Melanie said darkly.

Jon smiled smugly. “You are just _jealous_.”

“Of what?” Sasha asked incredulously. “I mean, Martin’s a great guy, but not my type.”

Tim winked at her.

“That you don’t have such an adorable boyfriend.”

They all retched again, Martin going pink. “Did it hurt?” he asked Jon, loud enough the rest of the room could hear.

“What?” he asked.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You idiot- _when you fell from heaven_ , am I right, Marto?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the _p_.

Jon looked at him in confusion. “Did what hurt?”

Without missing a beat he said, “When you fell for me.”

Heat crawled up his neck. “I- wh- I don’t…what?”

Sasha slung an arm across Tim’s shoulders as Jon buried his face in Martin’s chest. “There, you see that?” she said, pointing at the pair of them. “That’s how you fluster Jon.”

Tim scoffed. “That’s not true. _I tried that_.”

“Well, I’m afraid the only person who can truly flirt with him is Martin.” Still leaning on him, she walked out into the hall.

“Wrong again. Do you remember the disaster with the tea?”

“ _On a scale from one to Jon, how hot would you like your tea_?” she mocked.

Tim laughed, the sound growing distant. “He couldn’t function for _days_.”

For once, Jon didn’t mind their teasing. With Martin in his arms, Tim and Sasha by his side, Daisy and Basira watching his back, and Melanie at his throat (constantly, things hadn’t changed _that_ much, but they were friendly death threats), he felt like he could take on the world.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, announcing a text.

**_Georgie_ **

_hey head boss very important mr. sims sir_

_do you and martin want to go on a double date with mel and i tonight?_

_we could watch that movie you like_

_the Addams family_

_As long as you promise not to show anyone the uni photos again._

_;)_

_i make no such promises_

_are you in?_

Smiling, Jon typed out a response.

_Of course. We’ll get takeout from the Hungarian place. Same place, same time?_

_our place at 6_

_tell martin i say hi!_

_Will do._

Martin noticed his expression. “What’s got you so happy?” he asked teasingly.

Jon took his hand, enjoying the weight of it in his own. “Georgie says hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally don't even know what to say except THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!  
> if you've been reading since the beginning, thank you!  
> if you binged it this morning, thank you!  
> if you started reading a few weeks ago, thank you!  
> if you've left kudos/comments/bookmarks whatever, thank you!  
> if you haven't, well, here is your chance! i would LOVE to hear from you.  
> this has been such a huge part of my life for the past few months and i'm sad to see it end, but you can rest assured i have MANY MORE FICS planned. as of right now, i'm hopefully going to be revamping my great british bake-off AU in the next week or so and get back into a rhythm of that fic, so be on the lookout for that.  
> again, i cannot thank you enough! please take care of yourselves- drink your water/take your meds/please for the LOVE of LIFE SLEEP/be gentle with yourselves, k? you are all valid and i love you very much.  
> i'm honestly a little emotional right now i should probably get to sleep too.  
> until next time, fellow TMA fans!  
> (also did you catch my trexel geistman cameo? from stellar firma? just thought he should be allowed to be here too, after the crossover episode after s1 of stellar firma)
> 
> <3<3<3


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